Chain of Darkness
by Sarahlee
Summary: There's a dangerous serial killer stalking the streets of the 55th Precinct, and he's hitting a little too close to home...
1. Default Chapter

Title: Chain of Darkness  
Chapter one   
  
Drama/Suspense  
Rated PG-13 for violence and some language   
Series: Third Watch  
Author: Sarahlee  
Contact: flmodelgirl@hotmail.com  
  
Summery: Read and find out!   
  
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Third Watch. I did, however, make up a few of my own.   
  
Authors note: So, this is my first fanfic ever. I've had this story idea for about two years and finally decided to type it up and post it. Please read and review! I hope you all like it!  
  
**********  
It was a dark, moonless night in New York City. Sub-zero temperatures had forced most of the nightlife inside, and the streets and alleys were eerily silent. Officer Jim Barry sat in his unmarked cruiser under a dim streetlight. He strummed his fingers impatiently on the wheel of the car. Surveillance had to be the worst job a cop could have - except paperwork, that is, but even paperwork sounded appealing right now. At least he'd be warm. He glanced at his wristwatch. 3:37am. 13 minutes since the last time he checked. The time passed too slowly. He took a sip of his lukewarm coffee and realized his windshield was starting to frost over.  
  
"Great," he muttered, "could this night get any worse?"  
  
He needed to wipe the frost off before it got too thick to see. Jim slowly stretched and got out of the car. The snow crunched under his boots as he moved towards the front of the car. He was too busy cursing and muttering to hear the soft footsteps as they crept up behind him.  
  
**********  
"Oh, come on, Faith! Just let me drive today, you're in a bad mood anyway. It'll be safer if I drive."  
  
Bosco stood between Faith and the driver's side door of the RMP. Nearly all of the other cops were already gone. They probably didn't stand around arguing about petty things.  
  
Faith snorted. "Yeah, we'll be so much safer with you driving, Mario Andretti. And I'm not in a bad mood, Bosco."  
  
"Ok, fine. You're not in a bad mood. Prove it to me and let me drive!" Bosco flashed her his infamous Boscorelli smirk.  
  
"Whatever, Bosco," Faith muttered. It was way too cold today to stand outside and argue about who got to drive. Bosco did most of the driving anyway; what was one more day of sitting in the passenger seat with nothing to do? She quickly got in on the other side and slammed the door.  
  
Bosco was smiling as he started the car and revved the engine. Driving the RMP was one of his favorite parts of the job.   
  
"Central, 55-David is 10-98." He hit the gas and merged into traffic.  
  
"So, you want to tell me what's up with you today, Faith?" He asked after a few minutes of silence.  
  
"What do you mean, Bosco? I'm fine!" Faith snapped back. She raked her fingers through her hair. He always pestered her until he found out what was bothering her, and it didn't look like today was any different.  
  
Bosco rolled his eyes, "Oh, ok, if you're fine now, I'd hate to see you when you're mad!" Faith was so easy to read, did she actually think she could fool him? He grinned and shook his head. Then his face got serious.  
  
"Is Fred bothering you again? I mean, I know he turned over a new leaf or whatever, but-"  
  
Faith cut him off mid-sentence. "No. Fred has been wonderful. He really has changed, Bosco." She was looking him right in the eye. "I didn't believe him at first but now..." her voice trailed off.  
  
"Now what?" He hated it when she didn't finish what she was saying. As if he could read her mind or something.  
  
"Now he's like the man I married in the beginning." A sad smile was on her lips. It's too bad it took a heart attack to make him change, she thought. It had been five months since Fred's heart attack and his promise to be a better husband and father. So far he had kept it well; life was much easier now.  
  
The radio crackled, "Central to 55-David, we have reports of domestic disturbance at Union and 105th apartment 4C, believed to be violent with reports of possible weapons."  
  
"Central, 55-David, show us en route to that call," confirmed Faith as Bosco leaned over and flipped on the lights and siren.  
  
"Well, that's one hellofa way to start a day," Bosco said as he made a quick U-turn and headed   
back towards Union St  
  
**********  
A middle-aged man greeted them as they got out of the RMP. He was nervously looking up at the apartment building. They could hear shouting and loud crashes from high above.  
  
"Thank God you're here officers, I'm the landlord and I was starting to get worried that they might hurt someone," he said anxiously wringing his hands.  
  
"Do you know who it is sir?" asked Faith as they walked into to the apartments.  
  
The building was old and the mustard yellow paint was faded and peeling. The wooden floors inside were discolored and a few of the front windows were cracked. It smelled like old coffee and mothballs. Bosco wrinkled his nose in disgust.  
  
"It's the new guy that just moved in-his name is Joe Logan-and some other guy. I don't know who he is. They are on the 4th floor at the end of the hall, 4C. I heard them say something about a gun I think."  
  
"Great, I just love these calls," said Bosco sarcastically. "Every idiot has a gun."  
  
"Ok sir, you'll need to wait down here while my partner and I take care of this," said Faith as they started up the stairs. "Should we call for backup, Bos?"  
  
"Yeah go ahead but I'm not waiting for them, we can handle this," Bosco said as he pulled out his gun and turned the safety off. The yelling upstairs was getting louder, and a few people were sticking their heads out of the lower apartments.  
  
"Get back inside people! We're taking care of it!" he yelled at them. Doors were slamming shut as they made it to the landing between the third and fourth floors.  
  
"55-David to Central requesting backup," Faith pulled out her gun and cocked it.  
  
Bosco looked over at Faith, "I'll knock, you back me up ok?" She shook her head yes and started up the last few steps. Something crashed to the floor and there was more yelling. Bosco nodded at Faith and continued down the hall. The noise stopped for a moment.  
  
Bosco stood to the side of the door and banged on it. "Open up! Police!" There was some scuffling inside and then complete silence. Faith motioned for him to go ahead as she moved behind him, alert and ready. Bosco stepped back a few feet and gave the door a vicious kick. The flimsy door busted open and banged loudly against the wall.  
  
"Police!" he yelled again as he peered around the doorframe. It was quiet. Faith looked at her partner nervously. 'It's too quiet-this isn't good' she thought as she got a better look at the inside of the small apartment. The room was a mess of overturned furniture and broken glass. There was no one in sight.  
  
"Hello? Where the hell--," A shot rang out and a bullet whizzed past his head missing by millimeters. Bosco cursed and dove to the floor, knocking a lamp over. Faith was right behind him shielding herself behind an overturned tabled. She looked up to make sure he was ok. His eyes were wide and he was starting to sweat despite the chilly room.  
Bosco glanced down and saw that his hands were shaking. He swallowed hard and tried to get himself in check. 'Oh God, I almost had my head shot off'. Taking a deep breath he abandoned his thoughts and wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve.  
  
"55-David to Central- Shots fired. Where the hell is backup?" Faith whispered angrily into her radio.  
  
A gun peeked out slightly from the dark bedroom doorway. "Hey! This is the Police, put down your gun!" Bosco yelled. The guy with the gun chuckled, "Oh yeah, I know, and I'm supposed to just put down the gun and give up huh?"  
  
"Yeah, that's generally how it's done," Bosco rolled his eyes. Some people were so stupid. Half the police force would be out front in minutes. 'Does this jerk actually think he's going to get away?' The apartment was getting really cold. He decided to inch a little closer to the bedroom. Back near the kitchen he noticed feet poking out from under an over-turned couch. 'Must be the poor idiot that pissed this guy off' "So, you going to put it down or what? Don't make it harder than it has to be."   
  
Silence.  
  
Bosco motioned Faith to go check on the guy under the couch "Hey, you want to tell me what happened?" he said trying to keep the guy talking.  
  
"Not really."  
  
Faith started crawling towards the body. Glass crunched under her as she made her way across the room. Bosco kept talking, "You might as well give up now pal, because ESU is on their way and they don't come to mess around." He could see the tip of the gun lower a bit. If he would stick it a little bit more I could shoot it out of his hands. He kept his gun trained on the doorway.  
  
"First of all, I'm not your pal. And I don't really care who the hell is coming. I'm not giving up. You'll never get me. All you cops think you are so great, you can tell do whatever you want, ruin people's lives. Well you aren't going to get me."  
  
'What an idiot, even in movies the bad guy never gets away. And certainly not when I'm in front of the door with a gun. What does he think he's going to do? Make a run past us?' Picturing that, Bosco chuckled under his breath.  
  
Faith reached the guy on the floor and checked for a pulse. There was none. She shook her head; he must have broken his neck. His head was crooked at an awkward angle and he had blood dribbling out of his mouth.  
  
"Ok, fine, have it your way. Did you know you killed your friend here?"  
  
The guy wasn't responding. The apartment was freezing and all Bosco wanted was to nail this jerk and get back in the warm cruiser. He could see his breath as he waited, aiming at the sliver of gun that he could see. 'All right, I'll try one more time with this jag-off.'  
  
"Yeah, that's right you killed him. You know what that means? You're going to jail. Not just for that though. No, you shot at me and most judges don't look too fondly on people who try and kill cops. So your best bet is to give it up."  
  
Not a sound came from the dark bedroom. Bosco was getting impatient. What is wrong with this guy? And where the hell is backup? Faith looked over at him and shrugged. She could see Bosco was getting anxious. Sirens slowly got louder in the distance. ESU had finally arrived.  
  
The tip of the gun in the doorway shifted slightly. There was just enough sticking out to shoot at, but the shot had to be perfect. 'I hope all of those hours at the shooting range paid off.' Bosco aimed, held his breath, and pulled the trigger.  
  
The shot was right on and knocked the gun to the floor. Bosco leapt up and ran into the bedroom, Faith right behind him.  
  
"Alright jag-off! Put 'um up!" he yelled as he rounded the corner. But what he saw made him stop in his tracks open-mouthed. "What the--?" He was so surprised he couldn't even finish the sentence.  
  
The room was dark and freezing cold. The gun lay on the floor a few feet from the doorway. The window was wide open.  
  
**********  
TBC... 


	2. Chapter Two

Chain of Darkness  
Chapter two--  
**********  
  
Bosco raced over to the window and leaned out. There was no one in sight. There was however, a long rope tied to the radiator underneath leading out the window to the ground far below.  
"What? How'd he do that? I don't believe it! He was just here! He was holding that gun!"  
  
"Look Bos, he must have used this to hold it." Faith pointed. The guy had propped the gun up on a dresser using some dirty clothes. From the living room you would have never been able to tell that the gun wasn't being held. It was pretty smart of the guy actually.  
  
She looked back over to Bosco. He was still standing at the window shaking his head, only now she could tell that he was angry and not surprised.  
  
"I am going to find that jag-off and I'm going to kill him!" he muttered.  
  
**********  
  
"I just don't get it. We did what we were supposed to do. We followed the book, we waited for ESU, and he still got away!" Bosco hit the dashboard in frustration. He had done something wrong; he knew it. 'I should have had that jerk'.  
  
They had just gotten back in their RMP after dealing with the mess of ESU, the dead body, and the escaped murderer. There was going to be a heck of a lot of paperwork.  
  
"Hey, calm down Bosco." Faith looked over at him. His jaw was clenched and his fingers were gripping the steering wheel so tight they were white. He hated to be on the losing end of things. "Don't worry about it, sometimes it happens."  
  
"Not to me it doesn't." He grabbed his radio, "Central, 55-David is 10-98."  
  
"10-4 55-David"  
  
They drove around in silence for a while. Faith settled down in her seat trying to figure out a way to ease his agitation.   
  
"Hey, maybe---" Faith was cut short by Bosco.  
  
"What the heck is that?"  
  
Up ahead there were five or six patrol cars with their lights flashing. They were surrounding an old, black Toyota Camry that was parked by the side of the road. Bosco pulled the RMP up and hopped out of the vehicle.  
  
"I'm going to go check this out," he said as he shut the door.  
  
Faith sighed as he watched him march up to a group of cops. He was always so sure of himself, walking as though he was in charge of every situation. Most people thought of him as a selfish, proud, headstrong jerk. And he was most of the time. But Faith knew otherwise. It was a façade he put on to look tough. He had let his guard down a few times and showed a whole other side of himself.   
  
She could see him frowning now as he talked to a group of officers. He seemed to be upset about something in the black car. Faith leaned forward and squinted to get a better look, but there were too many people in the way. She thought about getting out of the RMP to take a look herself, but reminded herself how cold it was. Bosco was walking back now anyway. By the look on his face Faith could tell he wasn't bringing back good news. He was shaking his head and scowling.  
  
"What's going on, Bos?" she asked as he opened the door and got back into the cruiser.   
  
"Some sick psycho knocked off a cop last night!"   
  
"What? What do you mean? Who was it?"  
  
Bosco started the car and continued, "You know Officer Barry? That guy we directed traffic with a few times?   
  
Faith nodded.  
  
"Well, he was on surveillance last night and someone strangled him." He noticed the look of horror on her face but continued. They had liked Officer Barry, he was a respectable cop; easy to work with and had a good attitude.  
  
"Yeah, he was strangled. Then his neck was tied to the back of his seat with some sort of rope. I guess they found him an hour ago after he didn't report in after his shift. Sheesh, what kinda sick, perv would knock off a cop?"  
  
"Oh my gosh. Do they have any idea why? I mean, people just don't go around killing cops for no reason. Was he involved in something?"  
  
"What? You mean like, drugs? Nahh, not a chance. Barry had a cleaner record then a newborn baby."  
  
"Good grief. Now we have scum murdering cops. What has the world come to?"   
  
**********  
  
"Well, look who it is, Supercop!"  
  
"Bug off, Christopher!"  
  
"Hey Boscorelli, maybe next time you should wait for backup. Or at least, people that know what they are doing!" he sneered, referring to that afternoon and the escaped murderer.  
  
Bosco clenched his jaw and pushed past Sergeant Christopher into the locker room. He hadn't been back in the station for five minutes before he was all over his case. He slammed his locker door open and grabbed his clothes out. 'What the hell is his problem anyway?'   
  
"Leave him alone, Christpoher."   
  
Davis. Bosco recognized the voice without looking up. He unbuttoned his shirt and ripped his vest off. He was obviously angry and irritated. The Sergeant just laughed at his aggravation as he walked off. He got such a kick out of making that hotheaded Boscorelli mad.   
  
"Rough day huh?" Davis asked.   
  
Bosco didn't answer. He continued to remove his clothes, tossing his uniform and vest carelessly back in his locker.   
  
"I heard about that Officer Barry; pretty strange. Sully said that new cop Kendall found him. I guess he was kinda freaked out. "  
  
Bosco wasn't in the mood to chitchat. Davis watched him pull on his regular clothes and storm out of the locker room, headed home.   
  
**********   
Bosco sat on his couch surrounded by empty beer bottles. His head was beginning to ache from too much alcohol, but he didn't care. The day had started out bad and gone downhill fast. The events of the day kept going over and over in his head. The only way he wanted to deal with it was by getting as drunk as possible. At least then he wouldn't keep tying to figure out what he had done wrong.  
  
He was starting to get really tired. The alcohol was taking over his senses and his thoughts were becoming muddled and hazy.   
  
He fell asleep sitting up, a half-empty bottle in his hand.  
  
**********  
  
TBC...   
Please review, It makes me write faster! And there's a whole lot more to this story... 


	3. Chapter Three

Chain of Darkness  
Chapter three--  
**********  
  
Faith drove the RMP the next day with no argument from Bosco. He had shown up late for roll call with bloodshot eyes and a splitting headache. He felt nauseous and all he wanted to do was go home and sleep the hangover off. If he was lucky Faith might let him sleep in the car.   
  
No such luck.   
  
"Late night last night?" Faith asked as he leaned his aching head against the window.   
  
She knew he'd gone home and drank. Alot. He had only shown up like this a few times before. One of the times was the morning after he arrested his brother Mikey. He'd pretended like it didn't affect him but he had shown up late, disheveled, and practically begging for aspirin.  
  
He groaned in reply.   
  
"Listen Bos, I don't want you beating yourself up about yesterday."  
  
"I'm not," he lied. His stomach was burning, his head was throbbing and his eyes were stinging. And now Faith wanted a deep heart-to-heart talk. She always did. It was annoying, but deep down inside he knew he liked it when she cared. Faith was the only one who cared about him.  
  
"Yeah right, look at yourself—you're hung over. I'll bet you went home and drank yourself to sleep."  
  
"So?" he muttered. He closed his eyes and crossed his arms. The motion of the car wasn't helping and he felt like throwing up.   
  
"So? That's not the way to deal with things."  
  
When Bosco didn't answer, Faith glanced over at him. He looked miserable. He needed a few aspirin and a good old' cup of joe.  
  
Sighing, she slowed the car down and parked outside a 7-11.  
  
"Come on, let get some coffee."  
  
**********  
  
Officer Michael Jacobsen jogged up the stairs leading to his third floor apartment. His shift had ended a few hours ago and he had run home from the gym after a hard workout. He went to the gym almost every night, trying to keep his fit, muscled body in top shape. Sweat covered his young, handsome face and his breathing was slightly labored. Yesterday had been a hard day for him and he'd taken out his frustrations on the punching bag.   
  
Michael licked his dry lips and swallowed. He was parched.  
  
His key clicked softly in the lock, opening the door of his one bedroom apartment. The heat was left on and the living room was warm and inviting. His heavy coat and gloves came off as he walked into the small kitchen.   
  
Instead of reaching into the refridgerator for the bottled water he always drank, he opted for a faster soulution to quench his thirst. Grabbing a large glass he filled to the brim from the sink tap. Greedily, he downed the whole glass and held it under the stream of water for more. The cold water soothed his scratchy throat and he sighed in contentment.  
  
Michael glanced at the clock over his stove. It was 7:38 pm. Good; he had twenty minutes to take a shower before the game was on. He finished a third glass of water and headed for the bathroom.  
  
He emerged from the shower a short time later clad in sweats and a white tee shirt, his dark hair wet and tousled. His stomach was feeling weird, almost nauseous. 'Must be hungry.' Nothing a quick dinner couldn't fix. He turned on the TV and flicked to the game. The pre-game show was on and the commentators were making their predictions.   
  
As he threw a frozen chicken dinner in the microwave, Michael noticed his muscles felt a little stiff and slow. He flexed and unflexed his well-built arms and wiggled his fingers. They were starting to tingle and he saw that they were shaking slightly. His mouth had a bitter taste in it and the room was getting too warm. 'I must have pushed it to hard today at the gym. I've never felt this weird after a workout,' he thought, writing it off to over-exercising and hunger.   
  
His stomach felt sour and tight and he ate his dinner quickly to try and soothe it. His efforts only made it worse. The bitter taste in his mouth was stronger now and his stomach was turning painfully. Michael moaned softly, rubbing his stomach. 'Have to get this terrible taste out of my mouth,' he swallowed as he went to the bathroom to brush his teeth.   
  
The mint-flavored toothpaste helped only for a minute and the taste returned stronger than before. He bent over and spat in the sink, then bent down and drank from the faucet, trying in vain to rid himself of the bitter flavor. Looking up at himself in the mirror he saw his blue eyes were wide, and sweat was beading on his forehead and upper lip. His breath was coming sharp and raspy. 'What the hell is wrong with me?'  
  
He felt himself panicking and turned and staggered to the living room couch. His legs were stiff and his stomach was in agonizing spasms. He groaned in anguish and pulled his knees to his chest.   
  
Michael felt his stomach heave and his dinner start to come up. He stumbled into the bathroom and threw up. He stayed in the small bathroom heaving again and again until nothing came up anymore. His eyes were red and tears of pain were streaming down his face. Every muscle was stiff and burning. His heart beat painfully hard against his chest and his lungs were on fire. 'Oh God, I feel like I'm dying.'  
  
He wiped his face with a trembling hand and struggled to get up but his legs buckled beneath him. With every move his body protested with intense, fiery pain. 'I need help,' his mind raced,' I need to get to the phone.'  
  
Michael, almost screaming now in tortured agony, crawled slowly towards the phone sitting atop the kitchen counter. Everything burned excruciatingly and he couldn't catch his breath. He stopped and tried to control his breathing, but panicked and started to hyperventilate.  
  
His breath now came in short, painful gasps, each making his heart beat louder and more violently. His head was throbbing as his legs and arms stiffened and seized up. 'I'm going to die!' his mind screamed.   
  
The phone was now only a few feet away. He moved slowly but surely, almost making it before his body went rigid with convulsions. The cord to the phone was just out of arms reach. 'If I could only reach it and pull it off the counter.' Using every ounce of strength left, Michael stretched, grasped it and yanked it to the floor with a clatter.   
  
The phone was in his hands, but he could feel himself blacking out. His shaking fingers refused to cooperate and all he could manage to dial was 9, before he stiffened again and dropped the phone. He was sobbing now in agony and defeat.   
  
"Oh God, please, I don't want to die! Please God, please, please…" were his last words through clenched teeth. He choked as he passed out, his eyes rolling back in his head. Michael's heart gave out and stopped, his tortured body lying still.  
  
He never noticed the dark form watching from the window.  
  
**********  
TBC... Don't ya just love a good cliffhanger?! Please reveiw if you want more :) 


	4. Chapter Four

Chain of Darkness  
Chapter Four--  
  
**********  
Authors Note: Sorry it took so long to update-- I'm an actress and I just pulled two all-nighters shooting a couple of Visa commercials down at Disney World. I think I've had less less then 10 hours sleep in the last three days. I have another shoot in a couple of days---so if I take a while to post again, that's why. :) But I'm back now so here's the next chapter! Hope you all are enjoying! Thanks for the great reviews!   
  
**********  
  
Doc sighed and looked impatiently at the dashboard clock. Two more hours till his shift was up. The day had been unusually quiet; they had only had two calls since his shift had started.   
  
His partner Carlos was talking about something, but Doc had casually zoned him out a while ago. He was uninterested and hoping for another call.  
  
"…And what do you think about that?" he heard Carlos ask. Unable to come up with the correct answer he simply shook his head.   
  
"Yeah, yeah, that's what I thought too. And you know what I said?"  
  
"No Carlos, I don't know what you said." 'And I don't want to know either.'   
  
He glared at the CB radio on the dash, mentally begging it to give him something to do. They were a few blocks from the station and that huge stack of paperwork waiting to be filled out. He hated paperwork. 'Com'on…'   
  
As if it heard his silent plea, the radio crackled loudly, causing Doc to startle and stare at it in surprise. 'It worked!'   
  
"What?" Carlos was staring at him, confused. He hadn't realized that he'd spoken out loud.   
  
"Uh, nothing."  
  
"Dispatch to Adam 55-3, we have a silent call from apartment 310 on 12th and Freemont. The dispatcher on the line thought she heard choking. Swing by and check it out."  
  
"10-4 dispatch." The apartment building was scarcely two blocks down the street.   
  
**********  
  
Carlos was panting slightly as they hurried up the last flight of stairs. The heavy medical bag banged against his legs with every step. Doc was right behind him, lugging up the bright orange stretcher-board.   
  
Two cops had showed up first and were knocking on the heavy door. There was no answer so they tried the lock. The unlocked door swung open easily. Warm air seeped into the freezing hall.   
  
"Hello?" The older cop unclipped his gun holster and cautiously peered inside.   
  
"Hello? Anyone home?" he tried again. He signaled his young partner to follow him inside. The wooden floorboard creaked softly as they entered the apartment, checking first the bedroom and living room. Doc and Carlos waited outside for the go-ahead.  
  
"Clear."  
  
The younger, short cop moved into the dimly lit kitchen. A young man was sprawled out stomach-down on the floor not moving; his eyes were open wide and his lips blue.   
  
"Hey! Over here! Get the paramedics!" he yelled as he rushed to the body and knelt down for a pulse. Nothing.   
  
Doc ran in and grabbed his arm, "Ok, move over! I got him," he ordered, pulling him gently out of the way. Rolling the young man over he felt for a pulse, and listened for breathing. The officers moved out into the living room to give them space to work.   
  
"Ok, he's not breathing. No pulse. Eyes are fixed and dilated. I'll bag him. Carlos! Bring the bag, and get some Epi ready!" he commanded as placed an air bag over the man's nose and mouth and started CPR.   
  
Carlos grabbed the medical bag and ripped open the Velcro seams. He picked up the correct syringe and quickly tapped the air bubbles out. He got the paddles charged and ready, smearing them with protective gel.   
  
Doc continued to work feverishly. Huddled over the lifeless body he pounded his chest and squeezed the bag, forcing air into his empty lungs. Over and over again. Every few minutes he checked for signs of life, but the man wasn't responding. His body was stiff and growing cold.   
  
The minutes ticked by and nothing changed. Carlos knelt behind Doc, alert and ready.   
  
"He's gone." Doc finally surrendered and stepped away. He shook his head as he looked down at the man he'd tried so hard to save. He was young and athletic; this should have never happened.   
  
Carlos moved in silently with the stretcher, getting his first good look at the body. He recognized the young man immediately.  
  
"Oh man," he said in horror and disbelief. "I know this guy! He's a cop!"  
  
Doc looked over at him, surprised. "What?"  
  
"Yeah, I played ball with him and Jimmy a few times last summer. His name is Michael something—I don't remember his last name." His eyes were wide, darting back and forth between Michael and his partner.   
  
"Hey officers! You want to come in here?" Doc called out. He started packing up the equipment, but Carlos didn't move, his eyes transfixed on the dead officer's face.   
  
The pair of police officers emerged from the next room.  
  
"Yeah? What's going on?"   
  
"You know this guy? He's a cop."   
  
They both leaned forward for a closer look. The younger one's eyes lit with recognition.  
  
"Yeah, I do. That's Jacobsen—his shift ends when mine starts—I see him in the locker room sometimes." He swore and shook his head in disbelief.  
He'd just seen him yesterday, sitting on the wooden in front of his locker, pulling on his civvies and whistling. And now he was dead. He swore again. Unbelievable.   
  
**********  
  
Detective Matt Harrison sat with his feet up on his desk, tossing wadded-up paper balls into his wastebasket. Two points for a shot that hit the edge but made it in, and three points for a clean shot. So far he'd racked up a healthy score of 54. He had a habit of playing this 'game' with himself, usually when he was stuck at his desk with nothing to do. As a homicide detective in a big city, he and his partner usually had enough work to keep them occupied. But right now the station was quiet, due to the snow and the early morning hour.   
  
His phone rang loudly. He flung one last paper wad and missed by a few feet. The detective at the next desk snickered.   
  
"Harrison, you should try out for the NBA sometime."  
  
"Yeah, yeah," he waved him off and snatched up the ringing phone.  
  
"Harrison," he drawled into the receiver. His soft Texan accent sounded out of place in New York, and he was often asked if it was real.   
  
He listened for a moment before his brow furrowed into a frown and his dark eyes flashed concern. Paying close attention to every word spoken, he leaned forward and wrote rapidly on his notepad.  
  
"Uh-huh…Are you serious?…Of course…I understand…We'll be right down…Ok, Chief," He slammed his phone down and swore. Picking up his notepad he reached for his heavy overcoat and slipped it on.   
  
"What's going on, Harrison?" he heard his partner ask. He was standing in front of his desk holding a cup of hot coffee.   
  
"Get your coat on, Sam. I just got off the phone with the Chief, seems we've got another dead cop."  
  
"They think it's a homicide?"  
  
"Don't know yet. But it looks like he might have been poisoned."  
  
**********   
TBC... 


	5. Chapter Five

Chain of Darkness  
Chapter Five--  
**********  
  
The apartment that was quiet just a few hours ago now buzzed with activity. Police officers had taped off the surrounding area as a crime scene, and a small group of curious neighbors stood to the side speculating amongst themselves.  
  
Matt pulled his car up as close as possible, and stepped into the chilly night. Looking around he spotted the supervising officer and ducked under the yellow tape.  
  
"Detective Harrison, homicide, " he said flashing his badge.  
  
The officer nodded "Right this way, Detectives." He led them up the iron staircase to the open door at the top. The room inside was filled with cops and CSI dusting for fingerprints. They worked their way past them into the small kitchen. The coroner was crouching down next to a body lying on the floor.   
  
"What have we got here?" Matt asked him as he pulled out a pen and a small notepad.  
  
"An approximately twenty-five year old male, stiffness in all extremities. Rigor mortis is setting in—I estimate about five hours since death. His lips are blue and discolored, and his throat is swollen. This means that not only was he deprived of oxygen, but also probably ingested some type of poisonous substance. I'm thinking that whatever he consumed caused his throat to swell. From the stains on his shirt he appears to have been sweating heavily, most likely from the convulsions that eventually killed him."  
  
"What type of poison are you talking about?"  
  
"I can't determine that until after an autopsy, but whatever it was it was very strong and worked fast. I was told his shift ended about seven hours ago, but from the stage of Rigor mortis I can tell that he died less than two hours later. There was also a considerable amount of vomit in the bathroom—usually most of the poison is expelled and serious problems or death is postponed a bit. Not in this case," he finished as he stood up.   
  
"How long until the autopsy will be completed?" Sam asked. He watched the coroner shrug his shoulders.  
  
"I can have the poison type in a few hours. The rest of the autopsy will take a while longer. I can start now if I can bag him and get him out of here."  
  
"Of course. We need those results ASAP."  
  
The coroner nodded and motioned some men to bring a large black body bag over. Lying it down on the floor they carefully placed the body inside and zipped it up. A gurney rolled in and the heavy bag was set on top and rolled out. All that was left in the kitchen was the yellow tape marking how the young man had fell.   
  
Matt sighed, "Ok, Sam. Lets get to work."  
  
**********  
  
Bosco woke to the loud beeping of his alarm clock. He hit the snooze button and rolled over in bed with a groan.   
  
Yesterday had sucked.  
  
He had been hung over most of the uneventful day and Faith had spent hours psychoanalyzing him. She wanted him to stop thinking about what happened, learn from the situation, and move on. He couldn't make her understand if he tried. Sure, he'd lost a few perps before but never a murderer.   
  
His headache had refused to go away even after aspirin and coffee, which made him more nauseous. Even when he thought things couldn't get any worse, his long-lost brother Mikey had called and left a mournful message on his answering machine. He needed money he'd said, for his heating bill. But Bosco knew otherwise. His little brother would go buy drugs. And he wasn't about to supply him with drug money. Just the phone call had been enough to drudge up bad memories that he'd tried to forget.   
  
Yep, yesterday had sucked.  
  
He felt much better today though, and decided to take a run to work instead of driving like he usually did. The snow on the roads made a satisfactory crunching sound as he ran and his breath was white in the cold air.   
Today he had promised himself that he'd put on a happy face—If only to avoid the comments from his coworkers. He'd do what he always did; bury his problems and act as if nothing bothered him. But he still couldn't get over the fact that he'd screwed up and a murderer was loose on the streets. These streets. He could see small children playing on a school playground, oblivious to the world and its many problems. Because of him, they were in danger.  
  
'Think', he told himself. 'Think, Bosco. What did you do wrong?'  
  
But no answer would come, and his mind concentrated on the sounds of his running body. The pulsation of his heartbeat. The rhythmic pounding of his feet hitting the pavement.   
  
Running was far easier than thinking.  
  
**********  
  
Faith pulled her hair back in a twist and secured it with a clip. Roll call was in five minutes and as usual, Bosco was nowhere to be found.   
  
"Com'on, Bos." She whispered under her breath. The last thing he needed was another disciplinary. She hoped he wouldn't turn up like he had yesterday, she hated when he was in a foul mood.   
  
She tossed her gym bag into her locker and locked it up just as Bosco burst into the room, out of breath. His hair was pasted to his forehead with sweat and his cheeks were rosy with exertion.   
  
He started yanking his clothes off, throwing them to the floor. Faith looked at her watch. Roll call was in three minutes. He pulled on his pants and vest, struggling with the straps. She could hear him cursing softly under his breath. The vest finally cooperated and he jerked his shirt on and buttoned it up hastily. As he finished he turned to face Faith, jumped up, and threw his hands up into a victory clasp above his head.  
  
"Ha! Didn't think I'd make it did ya?" he glanced at the clock on the wall, "You see? One and one-half minutes left! Boscorelli is back!"  
  
His had such a proud look on his face that Faith couldn't help but laugh. He was right; Boscorelli was back. But not the way he meant it. His smile was back and that's all that mattered to her.  
  
"Let's go, Bos," she chuckled, "wouldn't want you to be late for roll call after all that, huh?"  
  
"Screw roll call, I must have beat every record for a full clothes change!" he playfully nudged her with his elbow as they made their way through the hall.   
  
**********  
  
The roll call room was nearly full as Bosco slid into a seat near the back. Faith had found a place a row ahead of him. He fidgeted in his seat as Christopher finished up his daily updates, praying silently that he wouldn't mention anything about him. Christopher seemed to take great pleasure in pointing out flaws in anyone's poor judgment, but he picked on Bosco the most. He heaved a sigh of relief as he left the podium and the Lieutenant stepped up.   
  
"Okay, listen up. Two day ago we all mourned the loss of our fellow comrade to a senseless crime. As many of you know, Officer Barry was murdered the other night while on his shift. Today another tragedy has occurred," he paused, "I'm sad to announce that Officer Michael Jacobsen was found dead in his apartment early this morning."   
  
The quiet room erupted with soft murmurs of astonishment. Faith turned back and looked at Bosco. She was just as surprised as he was. He leaned forward, his eyes wide. "Shit, Faith! That's two in three days!" he said in a harsh whisper.   
  
The Lieutenant leaned on the podium and continued, "We just received the report from the county coroner and it appears that Jacobson was lethally poisoned. Now, we aren't sure if these two murders have anything in common at all, but until we have more information I want all of you all to be on high alert. Keep your eyes and ears open and immediately report anything that looks suspicious. Watch your partner's back." His eyes wandered from face to face as if willing them to be careful. The possibility of a serial cop killer was heavy on his mind. He glanced down at his notes and cleared his throat.   
  
"One more thing, due to lack of evidence, we have yet to put out a detailed APB on Tuesday's escaped murderer."  
  
Bosco swore under his breath—They had to bring that up. He could see Christopher out of the corner of his eye. He was shaking his head and sneering at him. Bosco narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms across his chest.   
  
"As soon as we have more information you will be notified. Please be careful out there today and have a safe shift." The Lieutenant gave them a quick nod and stepped down.   
  
Faith watched as Christopher and the Lieutenant left the room. She turned around and saw Bosco had gotten up and was making his way towards the door. She sighed and followed him outside to the car, hoping he would stay in a good mood today.  
  
**********  
TBC... Thanx for all of the great reveiws! It really helps motivate me to write more! I have a bit more written, so if you want it.... you know what to do :) 


	6. Chapter Six

Chain of Darkness  
Chapter Six--  
  
**********  
  
Matt paced back and forth, a cup of cooling coffee in one hand and a pen in the other. His thumb rhythmically pushed the pen in and out of its sheath. Click, click, click. His lips moved as he silently talked to himself. Every so often he would stop, look down, and run his fingers through his thick blonde hair.   
  
Sam Taylor sat on a folding chair watching him. His pad of notes sat on his lap filled with observations and theories, none of them seeming to be of any value at the moment. Most of the CSI had gone back to the lab to analyze the samples of evidence they had taken. They had gathered samples of the vomit in the bathroom and everything in the refrigerator and freezer. All of the boxed meals, fruits, vegetables, and gallons of bottled water were now being tested for foreign substances.  
  
The coroner had determined hours ago that Michael Jacobsen had inadvertently consumed a virtually undetectable toxin. This particular poison is only effective when swallowed. It was tasteless, scentless, and very hard to identify after entering the bloodstream. Apparently, it had come from a plant in South America that, unfortunately, was as common as it was lethal. Because of this fact, there was no way to find out where it had been made and who had bought it.   
  
A dead end.   
  
Sam's cell phone gave a muted ring from inside his pocket.  
  
"Taylor speaking."  
  
He listened for a few moments before shaking his head in frustration.  
  
"Thank you," he said briskly and turned his cell off. He looked up at Matt, who for a moment, had stopped pacing and clicking that stupid pen.  
  
"That was CSI with the lab reports. Everything they tested came up negative. Except the vomit, that is. Nothing in the food, nothing in the water, nothing."  
  
His partner said nothing, but Sam could tell that he was disappointed. If they could find the source of the poison, they would at least have something to work with. Matt resumed his pacing and clicking. Only a minute or two had passed before he abruptly came to a halt and his head snapped up.   
  
"I have an idea, Sam."   
  
He crossed the room, set his coffee on an end table, and stopped at the front door.   
  
"Alright, lets pretend I'm Jacobsen. I've just came home from work," he opened and shut the door to illustrate, "Now, as we heard from his neighbor, he always went to the gym after his shift and then ran home. We know he did just that on the night of the murder, thanks to an eyewitness."  
  
Sam nodded in agreement. He hoped he was going somewhere with this.  
  
"Ok, I just ran home from the gym. What do I do first?" he waited for Sam to answer.  
  
"Uh, take my coat off maybe?"  
  
"Yes…" he drawled, "And then what? You just came in from a hard workout. Try and imagine how you'd feel."  
  
"Thirsty?"  
  
"Yes! You would feel thirsty because you hadn't taken a water bottle. So, now you go into the kitchen," he walked into the small kitchen and paused by the refrigerator. Sam followed him in and observed curiously as Matt opened the door of the fridge and pointed to the top shelf. Two four-gallon drums of bottled water were sitting there, their taps hanging slightly over the edge. They had both been previously unopened until CSI had to cut the plastic seal to collect samples.   
  
"What do you think, Sam?"  
  
"Well, it looks like Jacobsen used bottled water instead of tap. But we already knew that, he has it delivered every week,"   
  
"Yeah, he did," Matt paused frowning. He folded his arms across his chest "If these weren't opened when I came home, all hot and thirsty, I wouldn't go to all of the trouble of finding a knife and cutting them open, would I?"  
  
Sam watched his partner as he thought intensely for a moment. His eyes darted around the kitchen as if searching for missed clues. Something in his face brightened as they landed on the stainless-steel sink.   
  
In no time at all, Matt had knelt down on the floor and opened the cabinet below. He carefully pulled a box of household cleaners out and set them aside. His hand and arm disappeared into the dark cupboard, and his eager fingers circumspectly explored each corner and wall. Finally they found what they had been searching for. Matt couldn't hold back a smile.   
  
"Check this out, buddy."  
  
Sam retrieved a small penlight from his breast pocket. He stooped down next to his partner, who was grinning like he'd won the lottery. The flashlight's powerful beam cut into the dark and found the water pipe.   
  
A small, plastic, egg-shaped bottle had been attached to the backside of the tarnished pipe, and a thin tube ran from it. His light followed the tube up a few inches. It disappeared into the side of the pipe where a hole had been drilled and was secured with some sort of adhesive. If water ran through the pipe, the pressure of it would create suction enough to drain the vile of its contents.   
  
Sam let out a soft whistle. "How'd the hell did you know?"  
  
"Elementary, my dear Watson!" Matt smirked; then his brown eyes turned solemn "Poor guy had some serious enemies. Whoever did this, went to alot trouble to pull it off."  
  
"Tell me about it. He had to buy the poison, break into the house, and rig all this up…" Sam's voice trailed off as he stood up, rubbing his tired face.  
  
"And look—It's totally empty. That's why the water tests came out clean. There was just enough in there to do the job."   
  
"Yeah, this guy's dangerous—he knows what he's doing."   
  
**********  
  
The perpetrator ran around a corner into a shadowy alley. Bosco was less than ten feet behind in full pursuit. He was getting out of breath and his legs were starting to burn. He could hear the perp's feet slapping the pavement, slowing slightly.   
  
'Ha! I got you now, sucker!' he thought as he entered the alley. He squinted in the dim light and spotted the guy trying to climb over a tall chain-link fence dividing the alleyway in half. Pulling out his nightstick, Bosco started into a full sprint. There was no way he was going to let this one get away. Not like two days ago.  
  
"Hey!" he shouted.  
  
The man glanced over his shoulder then began to claw frantically at the fence, trying to pull himself up. But his feet kept sliding across the holes causing him to slip down even further.  
  
Bosco was underneath him now, shaking the fence as he climbed up a few feet and grabbed at the man's struggling feet. He managed to get a good grip on his pants and quickly gave them a strong jerk.   
  
The guy's fingers couldn't hang on any longer and he tumbled down, landing hard on the officer below. They struggled fiercely for a moment, each trying to pin the other down. The aggressive perp got a few good punches in, and the ring he wore on his right hand cut into Bosco's face. He could feel the stinging of open cuts and blood starting to trickle down the side of his head.  
  
Bosco managed to roll the goon over and restrain him by positioning his knees on top of his shoulders. But the struggling man wasn't about to give up and started to kick Bosco vigorously in the back.  
  
"Stop it you moron!" he yelled as he gave him a violent punch in the nose. The man struggled against his captor, twisting and jerking in an effort to get him off.   
  
Bosco could feel his temper rising as the man continued to kick his back and squirm beneath him. He hit him again and this time a small rivet of blood ran down his face. The perp managed to get a hold of Bosco's arm and he winced slightly as the sensitive skin of his upper arm was twisted and squeezed painfully.   
  
"Damn it! I'm gonna kill you!" He started to pound his fists on the man's face and neck. Blood was everywhere and the kicks to his back had slowed considerably, but he didn't seem to care or notice. Again and again he hit him, unaware of anything except an overwhelming sensation of power and control.  
  
Faith ran up to him, out of breath, with her gun drawn.  
  
"Hey!" She yelled as she got behind her partner, keeping the gun leveled at his aggressor. "Hey! Knock it off!"  
  
Neither of them listened and the kicking and punching persisted. Bosco could feel the perp starting to lose strength, and hit even harder. The guy started to whimper in protest; his feet stopped kicking and had pulled up in pain. But Bosco was in a whole other world. A world where perps like this jag-off never run and get away with it.  
  
"You think you're gonna get away from me? Yeah? Well you'd better think twice, jag-off!" he shouted in rage.  
  
"Get off him, Bosco! He's down!" Faith grabbed the back of his NYPD jacket and yanked him off forcefully.   
  
He wasn't prepared for it and his feet shot out from underneath him, causing him to land hard on the pavement. He looked up, stunned.   
  
Faith had her left foot planted firmly on the man's chest and was aiming her gun at his head. Bosco started to stand up and move towards him. She put her hand up.  
  
"Back off, Bosco!"  
  
"What?"   
  
"You heard me! Back off!"   
  
He didn't listen and got up, pushing Faith's hand away. She didn't hesitate to point her gun in his face.   
  
"What th—"  
  
"He's down! What are going to do? Beat him some more?"  
  
"He assaulted me!"   
  
"Yeah, and it'll go in the report—he'll get rewarded in jail-days. You don't have to kill him!"   
  
His face screwed up into a scowl and he glared furiously at his partner. She wasn't going to give in. All he wanted to do right now is teach that jerk a lesson. 'No one runs from Boscorelli and gets away with it.'   
  
Bosco opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off, "Get back in the car, Bos. I'll take care of this."   
  
He watched, infuriated, as Faith cuffed the perp and shoved him in the backseat of the RMP. She turned back to him and placed her hands firmly on her hips. He could see the look of displeasure in her eyes.   
  
"What was that all about?"  
  
"Nothing—I was just doing my job."   
  
"Last time I checked, your job is to serve and protect. Not try and kill a purse-snatcher because he ran and resisted arrest."  
  
"I was just trying to get him under control," he fumed. His temper was short and his bleeding head was starting to throb.   
  
"And after he stopped and gave in? You kept at it! You can't do that, Bosco! He's liable to file a report about all this!" she threw her hands up in exasperation.  
  
"Damn it, Faith!" he yelled, "What did you want me to do, let him get away? I seem to be getting pretty good at that, don't you think?"   
  
She stood still for a moment before she realized what he was implying.   
  
"So that's what this is all about, huh? What happened the other day? That wasn't your fault, I keep trying to tell you that." Her voice had softened.  
  
"Yeah, right! There's a murderer loose on the streets and it is my fault! I was there—I could have stopped him!" His eyes were dark with guilt and remorse.  
  
"Bosco, I don't know what else I can say to make you feel better about this. You need to realize that in your line of work nothing is going to happen the way it's supposed to. Nothing.  
But that doesn't mean that when things get out of control the end result is your fault. Take responsibility for things that are under your control, and leave the rest at the door."  
  
**********  
TBC... Hope you all are still liking this :) The best is yet to come... 


	7. Chapter Seven

Chain of Darkness  
Chapter Seven--  
  
**********  
  
Snow was starting to fall gently in the soft light of dusk. The temperature had dropped significantly since the sun had moved beyond the tall buildings of the big city and gray storm clouds had rolled in, hanging low and ominous. Friday rush hour and old, icy, snow from the previous storm had clogged up the busy streets for hours.   
  
The chilly weather and heavy traffic didn't appear to bother Tony Moretti as he stood to the side of a busy intersection. His gloved hand wrote quickly on his pad as he wrote out his twelfth and last ticket of the day. He stuffed the thin, pink, piece of paper under the windshield wipers of beige, double-parked Lexus, and strode back to his cruiser.  
  
His wife Mary was at home with a hot dinner waiting, so he wasted no time driving back to the station to sign out. The day had been long and cold; a hot shower and home-cooked meal was exactly what he needed.   
  
The locker room was full of officers, some dressing to go home and others changing to begin the night shift.  
  
"Hey, Moretti!" His old partner Hank was standing by his locker pulling on his NYPD jacket. He and Tony had worked together for almost ten years. Hank had changed to the night shift last year because his wife had started working during the day and needed him to be home when his kids got off school.   
  
"Hank! How's it going, man?"  
  
"Good, good. Not looking forward to going out into that snow tonight."  
  
Tony chuckled as he changed back into his clothes. "Yeah, it's a bit nippy out there. But I had a good day with parking tickets. Gets cold and people don't seem to care where they park."  
  
"I hear ya. Well, I have to get to roll call. Have a good night and be careful driving home, okay?"  
  
"Yep," he nodded, "You too. Take care."  
  
He watched as Hank and his new partner left for roll call with the majority of the others in the locker room. Tony grabbed up his hat and scarf and walked into the next room. Finding his time card, he signed out and reported the number of tickets he'd written out. He'd do all the paperwork Friday night like he usually did. He waved goodnight to the front desk receptionist and headed out the double doors.   
  
The night air was icy and the snow bit at his uncovered cheeks and nose. He hurriedly fished in his pocket for the keys to his truck, opened the nearly frozen lock, and climbed in.  
  
He was so intent on getting the truck running and the heat on that he didn't notice the faint 'click' as he sank into the leather seat.   
  
Tony smiled in content when the heat basted out of the vents, wafting warmth over his face and hands. As he pulled out of the back lot, his cell phone buzzed. Reaching for it, he flipped it open, recognizing the number as his home phone.   
  
"Hey you."  
  
"Hi baby, are you on your way home?"   
  
"Yeah, I am. I just left."  
  
"Okay, good, dinner's almost ready. Could you stop by the store for some eggs? We ran out." He spotted a convenience store up ahead and merged into the next lane.   
  
"Sure. I'll be home in about twenty minutes, okay?"  
  
"Okay, honey, I love you." Her voice was soft and sweet with affection.   
  
"Love you too."   
  
There was one parking space left outside the store towards the back. He heaved a sigh and pulled into it, wishing for a closer spot, if only to avoid a few more seconds in the bitter cold. He turned the engine off and buttoned up his heavy winter coat.  
  
Tony grasped the door handle and opened it, grimacing at the rush of cold air as he moved to get up from his seat.   
  
**********  
  
The teenaged cashier at the checkout counter pushed the groceries through the scanner, a bored expression fixed on his face. Milk, crackers, lettuce, peanut butter; he barely noticed the items as he placed them into a brown paper bag.   
  
How he'd gotten stuck with this boring, low-end, job—he had no idea. Scanning, bagging, smiling and saying 'Have a nice day' a million times a day was such a drag.   
  
After handing an older lady her groceries and murmuring his scripted send-off, he shuffled back to the cash register. His freckled face half-smiled a greeting to the next guy in line and reached for the conveyer-belt 'on' button.   
  
A thunderous roar and an incredibly bright flash of white light came from nowhere, and glass shattered all over the place as the front windows were blown to bits. He dove to the floor underneath the counter and tried to shield himself from the flying glass. His own cries of terror were lost amongst the loud shrieks and screams from customers as they dropped to the ground.  
  
The few seconds that passed felt like an eternity. Finally, the roar died down and the glass stopped falling and crashing around them. The young cashier peeked his head out and cautiously stood up.  
  
"Oh God…" he murmured hoarsely.  
  
The store looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. Soot and glass covered the counter and the people that were still down on the floor. He become aware of the smell of burning fuel and his stinging eyes searched through the hazy smoke into the parking lot. He could see a car burning intensely at the back of the lot.   
  
Picking up the phone he cleared his throat and dialed the emergency number, praying silently that everything would be okay.   
  
**********  
  
Ty Davis and his partner Sully sat in their parked RMP after taking care of another bar-brawl. The two very drunk men had spilled beer and vodka all over Ty's coat and shirt and he was trying to dry them off using a handful of paper napkins. The car reeked of alcohol.  
  
Sully chuckled as he watched his young friend try to clean up the mess. The sopped napkins were disintegrating with every rub. Little white bits of paper were sticking to the dark navy of his uniform, making it look even worse then before.   
  
"What are you laughing at?"  
  
"What? Me?" He pretended to be hurt. "I wasn't laughing."  
  
"Yes you were, Sul." Ty shook his head, clearly annoyed, and returned to rubbing his now navy-and-white speckled jacket. "Besides, you wouldn't be laughing if it was you that was covered in this mess."  
  
Sully just smiled. Watching Ty with those drunks had been the funniest things he'd seen in a while.   
Ty had walked into the bar and insisted that he would take care of this one. Sully, who was more than happy to oblige, consented and took a front row seat at the bar. The two guys were extremely drunk and had stopped immediately after Ty had pulled them away from each other. Then, the fat one began to sing and the other chimed in. Raising their half-full glasses in the air, they both stared to wave them around, sloshing vodka all over Ty while they continued to croon, dreadfully slurred and off key. When they had finished their 'song' and succeeded to thoroughly drench the young officer, they both grabbed a very bewildered Ty and sandwiched him into a huge, wet, drunken, bear hug.   
  
Sully stifled another snicker and Ty shot his still-smirking partner a threatening glare.  
  
"Central to all units. All available units, we have a report of an explosion on 57th and 12th." The voice on the radio blared.  
  
Ty raised his brow, curious."55-Charlie to Central, we're on the way."   
  
***********  
  
The ringing phone had wakened Matt from a sound sleep. Working overtime, he'd slept little in the past three days since Officer Jacobsen's untimely death, and had just fallen asleep.   
  
The deep voice on the phone had barked out names, dates, and numbers, but his foggy mind couldn't keep up. He had to ask for the information to be repeated before his brain caught up to his ears and he recognized the voice.   
  
It was Chief again. A car bomb, he'd said, another officer from the 55th precinct was dead. No information yet, the fire was still burning, but they were sure. The plates of the blazing car had been run through the computer system and had come up positive for an officer Moretti. Matt was told to get down there ASAP. Struggling to focus, he'd penned the bits of info on a scrap of paper and gotten dressed.  
  
A bite of bagel, two cups of coffee, and twenty-seven minutes later, he pulled up to the crime scene. Hopefully, that coffee would kick in soon and clear his fatigue.   
  
He surveyed the damage. The parking lot looked like a war zone. Three cars and what looked like a truck were still on fire and smoking heavily. Firefighters were hosing them down, trying to get the fuel-induced flames under control. The front of the store was damaged; empty holes where there once were large, glass panes and the store's sign had fallen to hang at an odd angle. Most of the other cars in the lot had escaped with only shattered windows and large dents from falling debris.   
  
Police cruisers and ambulances were blocking off the surrounding streets and a large fire truck had managed to pull into the crowded lot. Firefighter, cops, and paramedics swarmed the area, milling around, trying to help as much as possible. The heavy snow that was falling helped create a striking picture against the bright flames and his eyes fought to take it all in.   
  
"Who did this?" he whispered.  
  
**********  
  
Faith stood on the sidewalk with Bosco and a few other officers. Arriving on the scene over a half-hour ago, they had helped lead the disoriented people out of the store and into the hands of waiting paramedics. Now, they waited to the side watching the fire blaze, mesmerized by the bright flames.  
  
The fact that there was a car bombing in the middle of New York City was bad enough, but reality had hit hard when they realized that the victim of the horrific crime was one of their own.   
  
Another cop had been murdered. Another cop from the 55th precinct.   
  
Faith swallowed hard as her mind raced. Who would do this? And why? Was this the work of a serial killer? She refused to let her thoughts dwell on that possibility. She glanced over at Bosco.  
  
Her partner was lost in his own thoughts, hands stuffed deep into his coat pockets, a hard look on his face. The lights of the dying fire danced in his blue eyes. For the first time in a long while, she saw a glimmer of fear in them.   
  
**********  
TBC...Please review :) 


	8. Chapter Eight

Chain of Darkness  
Chapter Eight--  
  
**********  
  
Bosco crawled into his bed, exhausted. The events of the day slowly played back through his mind as he lay there staring at the ceiling.   
  
The looks on the faces of his fellow officers. The feeling of dread in his stomach. The terrible smell of burning gasoline. The gruesome sight of the coroner, extracting the remains of the body from the destroyed truck.  
  
He recalled the way the Captain had addressed his men, his expression displayed obvious frustration and the tone of his voice was strong and brusque.   
  
He remembered Faith, clearly disturbed, as they had returned to their RMP. His own uneasy feelings were churning inside him and they'd driven for a while in silence before Faith had started talking; speculating about what exactly was going on. He could tell she was getting scared. She was almost never scared, but this time there was a good reason to be. Three cops from their precinct had died in the last week. Three different times, three very different ways.   
  
The idea of a serial killer had loomed over their conversation, but neither of them had wanted to accept that explanation as a possibility and the topic had been dropped and changed to a lighter subject. They had ended up joking around about silly things, each trying hard to stop thinking about it, if only for a moment.  
  
His thoughts continued to whirl about in his mind, and a growing fear crept through his body.   
It was late before he had cleared his mind enough to fall into a troubled sleep.  
  
**********  
  
He had been waiting in the 55th precinct parking lot, hidden in the shadows. The faces of the officers as they filed out of the main building were solemn, but a few of them were laughing and joking around about something. Apparently, his work hadn't affected them. Yet.   
  
He smiled deviously, hardly containing his exhilaration. They were laughing now, but he'd make sure that before he was finished they would be quaking with fear. His plan had just begun, and the worst was yet to come.   
  
Yes, he would make sure that they were afraid.   
  
**********  
  
"I don't believe it." Bosco groaned. "Why do we always get the stupid calls?"  
  
They had just gotten in their third call from a fender-bender. The slick ice on the roads was causing people to lose control of their cars and slide into each other. None of the accidents had been in the least bit serious, and the only things for them to do were make sure everyone was all right and have the owners exchange insurance numbers. Frankly, it was very boring.   
  
"Bosco, I'd much rather get the 'stupid' calls. At least no one is getting hurt."   
  
He rolled his eyes, "I know, I know, but you have to admit that you like a little action, am I right?" He grinned and winked at her.   
  
"After this week, action is the last thing we need." She murmured as she pulled the RMP up behind the small crash.   
  
The two cars had been pushed to the side of the road, allowing traffic to drive by without any trouble. A couple of men stood to the side and appeared to be arguing. The taller of the two was gesturing forcefully with his hands and yelling.  
  
"Great…" Bosco muttered. He got out of the car and walked over to them but they didn't seem to notice the cops and kept yelling at each other.   
  
"Hey! Want to tell us what's going on?"   
  
"Yeah, this jerk smashed up my new car!" The taller one's face was turning red with anger.   
  
"Oh, com'on, it's icy—It's not like I did it on purpose!"  
  
"Okay, okay, let's not get all worked up about this." Faith pulled out a paper and pen. "Now, lemme get your names."   
  
The short man glared at his antagonist. "George Kendall. With two L's," he pointed out and watched as Bosco walked around the cars, assessing the damage.  
  
"Okay, and you sir?"   
  
The taller man's right hand slid into his pocket. "Jeff Anders, and I want you to put down that he totaled my car."  
  
"What! I didn't total it! Look, it's just a fender-bender!"  
  
"You stupid idiot! You smashed my brand-new car and you want to get away with only paying for a fender-bender!" his voice was shrill and he lunged at George, shoving him hard against his own car. George got up quickly and moved to hit him back, but the other man had anticipated this and grabbed his shoulders to block the attack. The two men now began a full-fledged fight, punching and pulling on each other.  
  
"Hey! That's enough!" Bosco pushed his way in between the two struggling men, trying to separate them. They ignored him, and continued to go for the other, their faces nearly purple with rage.   
  
Faith moved in to help, but pulled back, startled, when her eye caught a flash of metal. A scream caught in her throat and she watched in horror as a very angry Jeff Anders pulled a small knife from his pocket. Bosco, who was oblivious to the blade, was directly in between the men, still attempting to push the two apart.   
  
Anders raised the knife and blindly thrust it at his adversary. The blade stabbed into Bosco's upper-arm and disappeared, pushing through his thick winter jacket.  
  
Bosco groaned and cursed loudly, half-falling back a few steps as his hand went up to his injured shoulder. Anders took advantage of George, who had stopped to stare in disbelief, and proceeded to knock him down to the ground. His hands found George's neck and squeezed it roughly, trying to cut off his air supply.   
  
Pulling out her nightstick, Faith ran up right behind Anders and gave a vicious swing at his back. He arched in pain and fell to the side, leaving George flat on his back, gasping for breath.  
  
"You alright?" she yelled at him as he struggled to breathe regularly. He nodded a yes and tried to sit up. Anders was out cold, lying a few feet from Bosco. Taking out her handcuffs, she roughly caught up his limp hands and cuffed them together.  
  
She moved quickly over to her partner who had sunk to the ground and was leaning up against one of the cars. He was holding his left arm close to his chest and grimacing in pain, the knife hilt sticking out a few inches.   
  
"Oh my god, Bosco. Are you okay?"  
  
He swallowed hard. "Um, yeah…I think so. This thing hurts like hell." The pain in his shoulder was starting to get stronger as his body slowly came out of shock. Faith knelt down beside him and grabbed her radio, called in for backup and a bus, and then began to ease his jacket off his uninjured arm.   
  
"Stop," he moaned, "that kills!" Blood had seeped all the way through his jacket and a large, dark stain was forming.  
  
"No, I need to get this off and put some pressure on it. I'm sorry." She got his right arm out of the jacket and leaned in, tugging it around to his other side. "Okay, I'm gonna have to pull it out, you ready?"  
  
"I guess—Just do it fast." He turned his head so he couldn't see. Faith hesitated a moment before she forced herself to reach for and grasp the handle of the knife. As soon as she touched it, her partner cried out in pain. To save him any more agony, she yanked it out quickly and gasped at how deep it had been in his arm. Bosco doubled over, and groaning loudly he clutched his shoulder tightly.   
  
"I'm sorry, Bosco! I'm so sorry!" She took his jacket off the rest of the way and placed her hand over the wound, pushing it down firmly. "I need to put pressure on it." He let out another groan, and clenched his teeth together.  
  
"Okay, okay, enough…I don't think it's too bad." He pushed her hand away and after he took a good look at the gash, wrapped his own fingers around it. "Think it just caught the side of my arm."  
  
"Yeah, well, the paramedics will be the judges of that. You just sit tight." She turned around when she heard sirens in the distance and got up to take care of the two men.   
  
Bosco watched as she cuffed George and hauled a very disoriented Anders into the back seat of the cruiser. The paramedics pulled up, and Doc and Carlos jumped out, carrying their medical bag.   
  
"What happened to you, Bosco?" Doc knelt down and pulled on some latex gloves.  
  
"Aw, it's nothin', that stupid jerk over there pulled a knife on me."  
  
As they began to work on him, Bosco leaned his head back against the car and closed his eyes  
Here he was, sitting against a smashed-up car, holding his cut and bloodied arm, and all over a stupid fender-bender. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry.   
  
**********  
TBC... If you like it so far and want me to go on...review! Thanx :) 


	9. Chapter Nine

Chain of Darkness  
Chapter Nine--  
  
**********  
Author's note: Just wanted to let you all know... About the whole knife bit-- I knew that you aren't supposed to pull a knife out. My aunt is a doctor; I just threw that in for a little extra angst :) Thank you for pointing it out though-- I try hard to stay close to reality. Oh also, sorry for not posting for so long--I was busy shooting a new Charlize Theron/ Christina Ricci movie and had to be on set for hours and hours and hours...far away from my computer! I swear it was calling me ;) BTW, I didnt know the name of the precinct Chief so I made one up...   
**********  
  
The halls of the precinct were relatively quiet as Matt and Sam made their way to the Chief's office. He had called them in a few minutes ago, no doubt wanting an update on the ongoing investigation. He was about to be disappointed.  
  
Chief Nolan, who was on the phone, looked up from his desk as his two top-detectives filed in silently and closed the door behind them. He nodded hello and held up his finger for them to wait a moment. They took the empty chairs in front of him   
  
As he watched them, he couldn't help but think of what an odd pair these two were. Sam Taylor, short, dark, and stocky, was at least twenty years older then his young partner and six inches shorter. He had a quiet way about him, usually standing back and observing they way Matt would work a case, adding his own input when needed.   
  
Matt, on the other hand, was his polar opposite. He was tall, blond, and dimpled with a charming Texan accent. He was extremely intelligent and had aced all of his tests, allowing him to be the youngest detective on the force. The Chief had like the young man right away, and paired him up with Taylor, a more senior detective. They made an unlikely duo, but they got the job done.  
  
Nolan finished his phone call and leaned back in his chair. "Sorry about that. So guys, what have you got?"  
  
Sam glanced at his partner.  
  
"We have the file right here if you want a visual." Matt carelessly tossed a thin folder onto the desk. He didn't look happy.   
  
The Chief grabbed it up and opened it, expecting to see pages full of notes. Instead a single sheet of blank paper was inside. He looked up, puzzled.  
  
"What's this?"  
  
"That's what we have on this guy. Nothing. Not one new lead." Matt crossed his arms. "With all of the analyzing that went on, you'd think we could trace one piece of that bomb, wouldn't you? Well, we didn't bet on this guy. He managed to build an untraceable bomb."  
  
The Chief looked confused.  
  
Matt continued. "The materials that were used were all highly flammable and ninety percent of it was destroyed during the fire. The stuff that wasn't flammable was so common that you could pick it up at any hardware store."  
  
"What about the footage from the parking lot?"   
  
The security camera tapes from the station's parking lot were taken and sent out to be examined. They had concluded that the bomb had been placed and in Moretti's truck during the day while he was out working, and were hoping that they would have caught the suspect planting it.  
  
"Zilch. Either the guy was really lucky because Moretti parked his truck outside the security camera's perimeter; or he knew the margins and chose his next victim for this reason."   
  
The Chief sighed in displeasure and rubbed his eyes wearily. He was hoping that they would get some kind of lead from the analysis of the crime scene and tapes. They were getting nowhere with this case.  
  
"Okay boys, let's go back to square one. I want you to tell me all that you have on this guy, starting with the first murder."  
  
**********  
  
Bosco stared out the window of the RMP, watching the road for slicks of ice. After careful examination of his wound, Doc had been relieved to find that even though it looked terrible, the blade had only gone through the fleshy part of his upper arm, missing any major muscles or arteries. Fortunately, when Faith had panicked and pulled the knife out, her wrong move hadn't caused any additional damage.   
  
The ER doctor had fixed him up and sent him home with twelve sutures and a thick bandage covering the majority of his upper-arm. The pain was gone now, thanks to a shot of numbing medication, but his arm was a little stiff. The doctor had told him that it would probably be smart to take a few days off, but when Bosco had protested he'd reluctantly agreed that if he took it easy, he could return to work the following day.  
  
Faith had been upset about the whole incident, naturally, but when Doc had expressed concern about additional damage because of her mistake, she'd felt terrible. She kept apologizing over and over, even though he'd tried repeatedly to let her know that he would have done the same thing. She wasn't a paramedic--how was she supposed to know?   
  
The silence in the car was starting to bother him. He cleared his throat. "So, uh, this week has kinda sucked, huh?"  
  
"Yeah," she said quietly. She kept her eyes on the road.  
  
"So, I guess I get stuck at the desk tomorrow. Good, I was getting sick of traipsing around in this crummy weather anyway; it'll be nice and warm and quiet," he lied, hoping to make her feel better. He hated being cooped up inside all day.  
  
Bosco could see a small smirk forming at the corner of her mouth. "Oh, I see, a little too much 'action' out here for you?" she teased.  
  
He tried to hide a smile. "Hell, no! I just like to be warm, that's all."  
  
Faith just chuckled; she could see right through his lies.   
  
**********  
  
Steve Gusler sat slumped over at his desk, his nearly dry pen scratching the paper as he wrote out reports. His hand ached from writing all day, and his eyesight was getting bleary from reading in the dim lighting. Occasionally, his eyes would wander down the hall to the large door on the end.   
  
The head detectives had walked in there hours ago, and he knew they were discussing the bombing case with the Chief. He longed to be in there with them; to be a detective, conferring with Chief about his theories, spelling out his game plan and reassuring him that everything was under his control.   
  
Unfortunately, he was a lowly rookie, stuck doing everybody's unwanted paperwork. He rarely got to go out onto the streets—he was just used a backup for a sick or injured partner. Tomorrow was no exception; he'd been assigned to ride along with Faith Yokas. Apparently, her hotheaded, accident-prone partner, Boscorelli, had gotten himself into a knife fight or something. He liked Faith alright, but she treated him like she was babysitting him. Boscorelli was just a jerk.   
  
He resignedly continued with his reports, wishing that he were a 'real' cop, out on the streets doing the real work--the stuff he'd signed up to do.  
A head peeked out of the door across from his desk.   
  
"Gusler—Chief just rang, he needs more coffee in there. Two blacks with sugar and one with cream."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Oh yeah, he was also the coffee boy.   
  
The Styrofoam cups were hot in his hands as he knocked twice on the heavy wooden door. A muffled 'come in' barely reached his ears, and he struggled to turn the knob and balance the steaming cups.  
  
The Chief sat inside, slouched at his desk; the two detectives sat in front of him, nearly sprawled out in their chairs. Papers littered the desk and floor, and empty coffee cups were carelessly discarded in a pile. The three men had long since removed their suit jackets, and their ties hung limply around their necks.  
  
Chief Nolan gave Gusler a tired smile, "Thank you," he looked over at the detectives, "I feel as though I've measured my day with coffee cups."  
  
The detectives both gave a small chuckle, then the blond one sunk deeper into his chair rubbing his face with both hands. His shirt collar had been unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up.   
  
"Is there anything else I can get you, sirs?" Gusler asked.  
  
"No, thank you, that's all." Another weary smile from Nolan.   
  
Gusler closed the door behind him slowly and trudged down the hall, noting the time on the large clock that sat on the wall adjacent to his desk. His shift was over, finally. He hurriedly straightened the papers on his desk and turned of his lamp.   
  
A short time later he arrived at his apartment building and parked in the lower parking garage. The large, concrete garage was dark and silent and his footsteps echoed loudly off of the walls. The florescent lighting cast a bluish, flickering light, creating an eerie atmosphere.   
  
He'd always hated coming home late to this place, but after the last week he was even more anxious than usual. His imagination started to wander, leaving an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. The shadows seemed to crawl with unseen creatures.  
  
Come on, Gusler, suck it up. There's nothing out to get you, he told himself. But he continued to feel growing fear sweep over him. He jumped nervously at a soft sound behind him and his pace quickened as he made his way to the prehistoric elevator in the corner.   
  
**********  
  
He watched his prey move hastily through the garage, his eyes darting back and forth, afraid. His mouth twisted into a malicious grin. He purposely scuffed his shoe softly against the floor and nearly laughed as the young man jumped apprehensively.  
  
He looked on silently as his obviously frightened victim walked faster towards the old elevator, hands stuffed nervously into his coat pockets. Poor boy, he was scared now and he hadn't even done anything…this one would be fun to kill.  
  
**********  
TBC... Thanx for all the GREAT reviews!!!! 


	10. Chapter Ten

Chain of Darkness  
Chapter Ten--  
  
**********  
  
Gusler hit the faded number 5 button and waited as the doors closed. The dirty old elevator smelled moldy, an odor he was accustomed to. He'd lived in this building for the last two years, ever since he had decided to join up with the NYPD. Usually, the smells and sounds of the musty building were almost comforting to him, but not tonight.   
  
He stared at his refection in the scratched and dented stainless-steel walls, grimacing at the visible fear he saw in his face. Maybe he wasn't really cut out to be a cop. He shook his head bleakly as he exited onto his floor. It was obvious that nobody thought that he was anything more than a glorified coffee runner. Sure, they'd sent him out on the streets a few times—but only out of necessity. He never really had a chance to prove himself. Maybe he would quit and find a job he could be good at.   
  
The floorboards in the quiet hall creaked under his boots. His tiny one-bedroom apartment was all the way down at the end of the long, dark, hallway. His senses were heightened by the creepiness of the dim corridor. He was sure he heard soft footsteps behind him and whirled around rapidly. The hall was still dark and completely empty. Gusler breathed a sigh of relief and turned back, his heart pounding.  
  
He hadn't time to take a step before a powerful arm grabbed him from behind and tightened on his neck, firmly choking him. He felt his heart leap up into his throat and his heart race madly as he gasped and struggled against his attacker. The grip on his neck only tightened, squeezing off his air supply. He tried to call for help but could only manage to gasp and wheeze softly. He felt his assailant push a cold metal object against his back. 'Oh my god, he's got a gun. He's going to kill me!" His mind screamed.   
  
"Make another sound and I'll blow your brains out." A hoarse voice whispered vehemently in his ear. "You understand?"  
  
Gusler nodded, his eyes wide, petrified. The man pushed him ahead, down the dark hall until they stopped in front of his door.   
  
"Now, open it." He could feel hot breath on the back of his neck. His hands were trembling as he dug into his pocket, searching for his keys. He pulled them out and slowly inserted the correct key in the lock, hoping to God that someone would walk into the hall and see them.   
  
The lock popped and the door swung open. The man roughly shoved him with the gun through the small living room and into his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind them. Gusler stood rigidly, still facing away from the door and his captor, afraid to move without being instructed.   
  
A low chuckle resounded throughout the silent room. The man was laughing at him. Laughing at his fear and his vulnerability. Gusler took a deep breath, trying hard not to cry. He could feel his heart nearly beating out of his chest and he watched helplessly as the man moved to stand directly in front of him. His eyes traveled from the dark ski mask covering the man's face to the gun in his right hand.   
  
He noticed in horror the slim, black, silencer attached to the barrel. 'Oh god, I'm dead. He's going to kill me. I don't want to die, oh God I don't want to die!' he thought and squeezed his eyes shut in terror.   
  
"Are you scared Gusler? Hmm?"  
  
Gusler swallowed hard, not knowing what to say—or if he should say anything at all. How did this guy know his name? A hard blow the side of his head interrupted his thoughts. His eyes snapped open and he winced loudly. He felt warm blood dribbling down his cheek.   
  
"ANSWER ME!" His attacker screamed; the man was in his face, a gun pointed between his eyes.   
  
"Y-yes." He managed to croak out, just above a whisper. He could see the man's lips part through the mouth-hole of the mask. He was smiling.   
  
"Good! You should be scared, I'm a dangerous man." He sounded pleased with himself, but then his tone turned menacing, "You know what Gusler? Little…Stevie…Gusler—You're a lousy cop. I hope you burn in hell for what you did…"   
  
**********  
  
He watched his victim's face closely for a reaction—there it was. He seethed when he saw that miserable excuse for a man stare at him, confused. He didn't even remember. Damn him. How could he not remember what he had done?   
  
Well, he certainly would pay for it. He lowered the gun and jabbed it into Gusler's gut forcefully, satisfied when he heard the air rush out of him. He watched him bend over, clutching his stomach and wheezing for air.  
  
Yes, he would pay.   
  
He squeezed the trigger slowly, his heartbeat pumping in elation.   
  
The quiet 'whoosh' and the surprised cry of the young cop were music to his ears. Gusler was gasping in pain, his face contorted into a mix of shock and agony as he watched his own blood leak out of the gaping hole. The rookie slowly sank to the ground, holding his belly, trying in vain to stop the flow.  
  
He could feel his adrenalin rushing, coursing through his veins. He stepped over the gasping young man and leaned down close.   
  
"You know what Gusler? I've heard that a bullet to the stomach is one of the most painful ways to die. You see--it takes a while to bleed to death. And while you lay here, waiting for death to free you from all the pain you're in, maybe you'll remember for what you did--and you'll be sorry."  
  
The shocked rookie just kept gasping, his eyes red from crying tears of pain. Then something in his face changed. Gusler had recognized him; he knew it.  
  
The dying man's lips worked, trying to say something. "You…." He managed to croak out.   
  
"Ah, yes." The good-for-nothing cop was going to die and he should know exactly why. Why he had to pay. He leaned even closer and whispered something in his ear.  
  
The wide-eyed look of horror on Gusler's face was priceless. He thought about staying, standing here for a while to watch him die—but he had too much work to do. He had to make the others pay. That was his job.   
  
*********  
  
Faith sat in the locker room on the cold metal bench alone, waiting for Gusler to show up. He was late and had already missed roll call. Christopher was going to be pissed. If he didn't show up in five minutes she'd have to tell the obnoxious Sergeant—Great, just great. This is just what she needed, and injured partner and a missing replacement. And to top it off, it was snowing again.  
  
The clock ticked noisily in the silent room, and Faith watched the minute hand creep slowly past. Three…four…five minutes. Time to go visit the devils advocate.   
  
Faith found Christopher sitting at his desk, reading a newspaper. He looked up, slightly surprised to see that she was still at the station and standing in his doorway. She should have been gone twenty minutes ago.   
  
"Why are you still here, Yokas?" He laid his paper down and glared at her.  
  
"Um, Bosco is on deskwork today and my replacement partner hasn't shown up."  
  
"Gusler?"  
  
"Yeah." Faith crossed her arms.  
  
"Ok, fine, take Boscorelli out then." He was smirking, as if it was funny to him.  
  
"But—"  
  
"No buts, I'm sure he'll be fine. That'll be all, Yokas." He got up and closed his door in her face.   
  
Faith took a deep breath, trying not to curse at him. He was, after all, her supervisor. How Jason Christopher got to be a Sergeant with that attitude was beyond her.   
  
**********  
  
Bosco leaned heavily against the dark wooden desk. He'd only been working less than a half and hour and he was already bored stiff. Today was going to be a long day.   
He lazily tapped his pencil against the stack of papers piled up in front of him. Yuck. He scowled them, disgusted. Why in the world had he agreed to stay in? He was fine—his arm only hurt a little. Well okay, it was pretty stiff and sore, but he could certainly do his job.   
  
A hand appeared from over his shoulder and dropped a portable CB radio in his lap. He jumped, startled, and spun his chair around. Faith was standing behind him with her hands on her hips, a worried frown on her face.   
  
"Shit, Faith. Don't sneak up on me like that." He paused, puzzled. "What the hell are you still doing here? Didn't the shift start a while ago?"   
  
"I didn't mean to scare you. Get up, you're riding with me today—Gusler hasn't shown up yet."  
  
Bosco wasn't going to argue with that, he couldn't believe his good luck. He grabbed the radio and attached it to his shoulder, flinching slightly as his arm protested. Damn that hurt--he'd better take it easy today.   
  
"So, Gusler didn't show, huh?" He followed her out to the car.  
  
"Yeah, I wonder if he's sick. Tried calling his home, but all I got was the answering machine."  
  
"Yeah, maybe he's sick." He could tell something was bothering her. He had no idea what, though. She should be happy that he got to work today—at least she didn't have to drag around a rookie. She didn't really like that. Said it felt like babysitting. Plus, she never got any of the good calls, mostly fender-benders and telling prostitutes to get off the streets. Boring.   
  
She let out a deep breath. "Listen, Bos. I really don't think you should be out on the streets today; you just got stabbed for pete's sake! We'll go see if Gusler is sick or not. If he isn't, I'll bring you back here, okay?"  
  
"What? I'm fine, see!" To demonstrate, he moved his left arm up and down quickly. A little too quickly. His arm started throbbing in pain. He tried to hide it, but Faith could tell. She shook her head.  
  
"Nope, I don't buy it, Bos. Nice try. We're going to find Gusler. He'd better be sick, because if he isn't he's going to get it from me."  
  
**********  
  
The old building that Gusler lived in looked as though it was about to fall over. The elevator groaned as they stepped into it, and the moldy smell was almost unbearable. Bosco shook his head in disgust. How could people live in these dumps? He'd never, ever, even think about renting here. It reminded him too much of his childhood. The only apartment his drunken, abusive father could afford was just as dirty and ugly. Bad memories. He refused to think about it.  
  
Faith was pissed. If Gusler wasn't going to show up, he should have called in sick. Period. Now she was riding in a stinky old elevator with her partner, who was probably in alot more pain then he let on. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. She saw him cringe when the elevator stopped rather suddenly, jerking to a halt. He shouldn't have to be out here. Right now, she hated Christopher and was super pissed at Gusler. If he had just called in sick earlier, they could have arranged for another replacement. It was too late now. He'd better have a good excuse.  
  
They walked down the dimly lit corridor, noting the numbers on the doors and mentally counting down. Gusler's apartment was at the end of the cold hall, 523.   
  
Faith rapped noisily on the door. No answer.   
  
Bosco didn't know if he was relieved or angry. His arm was really starting to bother him. Maybe he should have stayed home today. No, I'll be fine, he told himself.   
  
Faith knocked again, louder this time. The sound echoed off the walls almost eerily, making Bosco want to leave—this place was giving him the creeps.  
  
"Ok, I guess he's not home. Let's go." He remarked shortly, and then turned, more than ready to leave.   
  
"No, hold on, one more time." Faith was getting anxious, shifting her weight side to side and biting her lower lip. If Gusler wasn't here…where was he? Did his car break down? Was he okay?  
  
She knocked a final time, and reached to wiggle the doorknob. To her surprise, the door had been left unlocked and clicked open in her hand.   
  
"It's unlocked. Think we should go in?"  
  
Bosco frowned and shrugged his shoulders, annoyed. Didn't Gusler know anything? First rule for living in New York City: Never leave your door unlocked, especially if you lived in a place like this. The kid was so naïve.   
  
Faith pushed open the door slowly, "Gusler? You home?" She called out as she moved into the small living room. She looked around, almost amazed; for a young guy, Gusler kept a relatively clean apartment. Interesting.  
  
"Anybody home?" Bosco peered around the corner into the kitchen. It was empty. "Ok, Faith—he's not here. Can we go now?"  
  
"Wait." She held up a finger as she walked over to the bedroom and pushed the door open. She squinted, here eyes trying to adjust to the pitch-black darkness of the room. She could see what she assumed was Gusler, lying on the bed, covers pulled over his head. Bosco moved in behind her, pissed. That damn rookie was still asleep!   
  
"Gusler? You okay?" Faith stepped up to the side of the bed and leaned down. Something smelled strangely familiar. Almost like…blood.   
  
"Com'on Gusler, get up now, man—or I'll beat the crap outta you." Bosco was really mad now. He had to come all the way down here and the kid was sleeping. Oh boy, was he going to get it.  
  
Faith reached over and grabbed a handful of the thick comforter covering Gusler, yanking it down.   
  
"Oh, God," she whispered, shocked. Bosco took three steps back, trying to comprehend what he was seeing.   
  
Gusler lay in a large pool of blood, his arms clutching his stomach and the quarter-sized hole right below his ribs. His eyes were closed, but his expression was far from peaceful, leaving little to the imagination. He had died a horrible death.   
  
"Oh, God," she repeated, bringing her hands to her gaping mouth. The room now reeked with the salty, thick smell of blood. She could feel herself hyperventilating, her breaths coming in short, shocked, gasps. She was going to throw up. Faith turned and retched in a nearby trashcan, tears running down her face.  
  
Bosco couldn't move. Gusler was lying there, dead—drenched in his own blood, shot in the chest. He could hear Faith speaking, whispering, her words strained and stunned, but he couldn't see her. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the gruesome sight in front of him. Only when he could hear her vomiting did he snap out of his trancelike stare. He went over to her as she stood up, her face streaked with tears.   
  
He wrapped his arm around his partner, pulling her out of the room, away from that bloody mess. She was shaking and breathing hard, her hands covering her open mouth.   
  
"Come on, let's get out of here," he managed to find his voice, "You don't need to see this."  
  
**********  
TBC...   
To all you Gusler fans-- I'm sorry I had to kill him! I guess it's that melodramatic side of me...:) The story is just getting started though, so hang on! Reveiw if ya want more :) 


	11. Chapter Eleven

Chain of Darkness  
Chapter Eleven--  
  
**********  
  
Matt trudged slowly up the stairs, Sam close behind. They had just returned from the site of the last grisly murder; the thick smell of blood and the images of the young man's tortured expression refused to leave his mind, haunting him.   
  
They were on their way to talk to the two officers that had discovered the body. He grasped a thick file in his right hand, hoping and praying that all of the notes, evidence, and pictures would somehow give them a lead in this case. Maybe this time the killer had left a clue, a small mistake, perhaps. But in the back of his mind he knew—like the other crimes, this one was pretty much cut and dried. Evidence was scarce, and no unidentified DNA had been collected yet.   
  
He was beginning to feel helpless against this relentless, cold-blooded machine.   
  
Matt entered a small room nearly filled by the large, square table in the center. Two uniformed officers sat on one side, facing the doorway.   
  
"Evening, officers. This won't take long." He and Sam took seats opposite them and introduced him and his partner, taking a quick look into the folder at his notes. Officers Faith Yokas and Maurice Boscorelli. Perhaps they could provide a lead, something they'd missed. Sam pulled a slim notebook out of his pocket and wrote a few words at the top of the page, nodding at his young partner to begin.  
  
Matt cleared his throat, "Says here that you were the officers that found the body, correct?"  
  
"That's right." Boscorelli nodded and leaned back in his chair.  
  
"At approximately what time did you find the body?"  
  
Yokas thought for a moment, "I think around four, maybe four-thirty."  
  
Matt glanced at his notes again, scanning down the page. According to the liver temperature, the coroner had conjectured the time of death between 1-3am that morning. They hadn't found the body until over twelve hours later. Another notation farther down the page read that Gusler was supposed to have been on duty with Yokas. Yet, she had obviously gone out with her usual partner.   
  
"Okay, my notes say here that Steven Gusler was scheduled to be on duty today. Can you clear this up for me? Actually, why don't you just tell me the whole story, starting from the last time you saw him."   
  
He studied their faces closely, mostly out of habit. Yokas seemed relatively calm, considering the circumstances; her light blue eyes showing signs of stress and fatigue. On the other hand, despite the hard look on his face, her partner's eyes were uneasy, almost on edge.   
  
Yokas sighed and began talking, spelling out exactly what had happened, Boscorelli filling in and commenting. Most of it they already knew; Gusler was last seen here at the station the night before, doing paperwork. After he was fatally shot, his body was pulled up from the floor, placed on the bed, and covered with a comforter. His apartment door had been left unlocked, but not ajar, showing no signs of forced entry. Looking for him, the two officers had arrived around 4pm, entered the apartment and discovered the corpse.  
  
The only thing that Yokas had helped clear up was why she was riding with Boscorelli instead of Gusler.   
  
Matt was exhausted and couldn't think of anything else to ask. "Sam, you have any questions?"  
  
His partner only sighed and shook his head, "No. Thank you both for your time, we appreciate you waiting here for us." He nodded at the cops, releasing them to go home.  
  
"I have a question," Boscorelli was on his feet, hands on his hips. "What the hell is going on around here? Do you have any idea who is doing this? And why? I mean, it doesn't make any sense."  
  
"Uh," Matt swallowed hard and struggled to find the right words. They needed to know that everything was going to be all right, be assured that the detectives were on top of things, hot on the trial of this killer; that the latest one of their fallen comrades would be the last victim. Even after all of the analyzing and profiling, investigating and long hours of scrutiny, the detectives had come up empty-handed. Regrettably, he'd have to be lying to say anything close to comforting.   
  
He cleared his throat, "That's okay, we don't think it makes much sense either. But we are doing all we can to find this guy. I can't tell you much more than that."  
  
Damn, that sounded so weak. He smiled, trying to cover his doubts and worries, but his smile felt fake, plastic.  
  
Fortunately, his answer seemed to appease Yokas. He wasn't so sure about her partner. Boscorelli was frowning at him, a strange look on his face. They both exited the room without any further questions.  
  
Matt nearly slammed the door shut in frustration then sank into a chair, rubbing his eyes. "We need to get something on this guy. We have nothing, absolutely nothing to work with."  
  
Sam leaned forward and folded his hands, elbows on the table, not knowing what to say. He hated seeing Matt like this—exhausted, frustrated, dejected.   
  
"What are we going to do, Sam?" Matt paused and looked up at his partner dismally. "What the hell are we going to do?"  
  
**********  
  
Faith pulled her car up to the curb and parked. Bosco, who had been silent the entire ride, hesitated as he grasped the door handle.   
  
"Thanks for drivin' me home."   
  
"No problem, Bos." She forced a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. Bosco could see the weariness in her face. He knew all she wanted right now was to go home and crawl into bed. That was the last thing he wanted to do--the second he left the car he was alone. Gusler was alone when he was murdered. Heck, so were all of the others.   
  
"You okay?" Faith's asked softly, pulling him out of his thoughts. She had noticed his reluctance to get out of the car.  
  
"Uh, yeah," he muttered, swallowing against the large lump in his throat. He couldn't let her see that he was afraid. He had to be strong. "Night, Faith."   
  
"Goodnight, see you tomorrow." She said as he shut the door.  
  
Bosco stood on the sidewalk and watched her drive away until her taillights disappeared around a corner. Faith was so lucky, she had a family to go home to—not a dark, empty apartment. He jogged quickly into his building and up the long flight of stairs, half-expecting something to jump out and grab him. The last couple of weeks were really taking a toll on his mind.  
  
As soon as he got into his apartment he shut the door and locked up the deadbolt and chain-lock, checking them both twice to make sure they were secure. Then he walked around quickly, flipping all of the lights on, relieved only when the apartment was bright and shadow-less. He hated the dark; it terrified him. It reminded him too much of when he was young. His drunken father would get angry and he'd lock him in a pitch-black closet for days. He would sit in a corner sobbing, listening to the cockroaches and rats scratch within the thin walls, praying that they wouldn't bite him. Even years later, when in a dark room he could still feel the sensation of absolute vulnerability and terror, reminding him that he'd never really get over what had been done to him.   
  
Bosco grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, switched the television on, and plopped down on his couch, feeling very alone. He couldn't stop thinking about Gusler. Guilt and remorse flooded through his body as he recalled every insult, smirk and jeer he'd aimed at the young rookie. God, how he wished he'd been nicer to that kid. Gulping down the last bit of his beer, he pushed those thoughts aside, trying to focus on the blaring TV.   
  
But instead, the detective's words danced through his head, taunting him, '…we are doing all we can to find this guy. I can't tell you much more than that.'   
  
He remembered listening to that young detective thinking, "What the hell!? What kind of an answer is that?" Then came the strained smile, meant to reassure them, Bosco supposed, but it did anything but that. His dark blue eyes had betrayed him, clouding over with fear and trepidation.   
  
That one look was enough to encourage the hint of anxiety in his stomach to grow into a churning, sour, sickening feeling of dread.   
  
**********  
  
Faith pulled her thick comforter up, snuggling against her sleeping husband. She stared at the glowing red numbers on her digital clock radio, watching the digits slowly change. Sleep had been evading her for hours, leaving her to dwell on the events of the last week, prompting unanswered questions to swirl around in her head.   
  
She worried about Bosco; he had looked so forlorn tonight when she'd dropped him off, hesitating to get out of the car. Her partner was always so strong, so confident, but tonight she had noticed his uncertainty and it bothered her. He was scared, she knew it.   
  
She thought about all of the officers of the 55th-- any one of them could be next.   
  
"God", she prayed silently, "please help us..."   
  
**********  
TBC...  
Thank you all for the wonderful reviews! I hope you are still enjoying it :) 


	12. Chapter Twelve

Chain of Darkness  
Chapter Twelve--  
  
**********  
  
If there was a bright side to a boring day, it was that instead of chasing criminals in the frigid weather, 55-Charlie got to sit in their warm cruiser. Unfortunately, that was the only bright side.  
  
Sully, bored out of his mind, had spent the most part of the day deciding which bar he would later frequent. The enticing taste of alcohol was fresh on his mind, tempting his taste buds, causing him to long for his next fix. His partner had repeatedly asked him to stop drinking—but what the hell did Davis know? Geez, he was only a kid. And besides, it wasn't like he was a drunk or anything; he just liked a few beers to end his day. He deserved it.  
  
He glanced at Ty, who was staring monotonously out the window, chewing a piece of gum rhythmically. Davis was a good kid, a little naive sometimes, but a good kid. At the very least, his eagerness to do his job correctly was admirable. Sully had decided long ago that his drive and dedication most likely stemmed from his father's premature death. Sully had been fortunate enough to be partnered up with one of the best cops in the precinct, Tyrone Davis, Sr., who was fatally shot years ago. Young Ty was so much like his father sometimes that it hurt to even look at him, reminding Sully that his best friend was gone forever. But now he had Davis Jr. for a partner and he was a good cop, trying to be fair and follow the rules even in his harsh and unforgiving work environment.   
  
If the last week had been tough on Ty, he hadn't shown it. Still his obnoxiously optimistic self, he always showed up on time, ready to rid the city of crime, seemingly oblivious to the present danger of being a cop from the 55th.   
  
Although he hid it well himself, the truth was that Sully was undeniably feeling apprehensive, concerned not only for himself and Ty, but also for his friends and coworkers. The day before yesterday, news of Gusler's death had shocked him and only helped to instill the constant uneasiness he felt. The nighttime hours, which before he had loved for the deep, black skies and tranquility of the sleeping city, were almost frightening to him. Too much could hide in the darkness.  
  
His eyes roamed the nearly empty streets and settled on the small group of women just down the block.   
  
"Com'on girls, it's below freezing—have a little respect for yourselves," he muttered as he watched a car pull up and open a door. Undignified as it was, the ladies of the night still had to eat and they would do just about anything, even if it meant almost freezing to death on a street corner.   
  
Ty raised his brow, "You gonna pick them up, Sul?"   
  
"Nahh, I'm just going to make them move down a bit, let Bosco handle them." As much as he despised seeing those women degrading themselves, he took no pleasure in dealing with them. Besides, he knew how much Bosco hated to clear the streets, and the mere thought of irking his obstinate, hotheaded comrade made him smirk. Oh, Bosco was going to be ticked.  
  
He pulled the RMP up to the curb and watched as the ladies scattered a bit and a few lit cigarettes, trying to appear as if they were just out there for a smoke. It was an old bit, but Sully had been around the block a few times. He rolled down his window.  
  
"Hey ladies, you want to tell me what you are doing out here?" It was almost a rhetorical question. He knew they realized that he wasn't going to buy one of the oldest tricks in the book, but they always gave it a try anyway.   
  
A tall, obviously-bleached blonde strode up to the cruiser. "Nothing, Officers," she smiled and her large, magenta lips revealed a row of perfectly white but crooked teeth "Just came out for a smoke."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I've heard that one. You cant 'smoke' here, though," he replied sarcastically. "Move up the street a ways—to 5th and Montgomery and I wont arrest you."  
  
"Ok, officer. Whatever you say," she purred as she winked and walked away with the group, heels clicking and her purse wagging.   
  
Ty chuckled next to him. "Hey, Sul, I think she liked you."   
  
"Cute, Davis—I'm not in the mood."  
  
************   
  
Faith winced as she pulled off her over-shirt and vest, leaving her torso only covered by her thin tank top and exposing her bare arms to the chilly air. Good grief, they really needed to turn up the heat in the locker rooms. Bosco sat next to her on the cold metal bench, apparently oblivious to the drafty air as he pulled on his civvies.   
  
He'd seemed okay today to Faith, maybe what she thought she saw the other night had been a figment of her imagination. He looked up at her briefly before bending down to tie his shoes. No—there it was again, that weary, haunted look. His facial expressions had remained the same as always, almost boyish; his eyes somewhat wide and the left corner of his mouth turned up slightly in his customary smirk. But his eyes had lost their sparkle.  
  
The back door opened, ushering in another cold draft, then Sully and Ty. Faith pulled on her sweater as she felt goosebumps forming on her arms. Bosco straightened, finished his shoes, and gave them a sour glare.   
  
"Hey, Sullivan - got your little present. The hookers were great fun; we spent an hour rounding them all up. Next time you try that, I'll kick your ass." He wagged his finger at Sully, threateningly.  
  
Sully raised his eyebrows, feigning ignorance. "I don't know what you're talking about, Bosco." He pushed past Bosco and opened his locker, trying to hide a smile.   
  
"Yeah, nice try, but I talked to the hookers. They didn't seem to want to leave my corner because they said some ugly, fat, decrepit old has-been told them they could stay there. I could only assume they meant you."  
  
Faith rolled her eyes. Typical Bosco and Sully banter. They did this almost every day, each one trying to be wittier and have the best line.   
  
"Well, at least I 'have' been, that's more than you can say for yourself." Sully shot back, getting slightly peeved.   
  
"Oh, really? Well—"  
  
"Hey, hey, listen guys," Ty cut in, always the peacekeeper. "Cut it out. Let's just…go home, get some sleep."  
  
Faith smiled at Ty. She liked him; he was a good guy, had a level head on his shoulders. She had been partnered up with him a few times when Bosco and Sully were both off work or out of town. He was quiet in a nice way, only talking when he'd thought out what he was going to say. Not like her partner. Bosco had a mouth the size of Texas with an ego to match. Yes, it was definitely refreshing to work with Davis.  
  
"Whatever. I'm outta here." Bosco gave Sully one last look, then turned to Faith. "You comin'?"  
  
"Yeah." She pulled her winter coat on. "See you tomorrow, guys."   
  
**********  
  
Ty slowly drove his gray Geo Metro by the bar, searching for his partner's car. He spotted it parked unevenly, practically taking up two parking spaces. Sighing heavily, he pulled his car into the nearly empty lot and parked in the alley alongside of the building. This routine had become a habit the last few weeks. Go home, sleep a couple of hours, and then go pick up a drunken Sully. He didn't know why he did it, maybe because Sully was alone and needed to be looked after. Maybe because he felt responsible for his partner. Maybe because Sully was the closest thing he had to a father and he didn't want to lose him too. It didn't really matter why, he just did it.  
  
He trudged through the snow and into the bar. The bar was empty, save a dejected figure sitting alone at the counter, a host of empty shot glasses set haphazardly in front of him. His arms were folded across his chest as he watched the bartender wipe off bottles of liquor and place them in their respective spots on the shelves.  
  
He looked up as Ty walked across the room to stand beside him.   
  
"What are you doing here, Davis?"  
  
Good, Sully wasn't too drunk—he wasn't slurring his words and had actually remembered Ty's name.   
  
"Hey, Sul. Just came by to give you a ride home." Ty noticed Sully's keys on the counter in front of him and quickly grabbed them up and stuffed them into his overcoat pocket.   
  
"I don't need a ride home," he growled and turned his attention to the bartender. "Hey, Scotty, can I get another shot over here?"  
  
The bartender looked at Ty and raised his eyebrow. Ty shook his head.  
  
"Sorry, mate, bar's closed." The bartender returned to shelving bottles.  
  
"Come on, Sully. Let's go home."  
  
"No. Go away."  
  
Ty was getting impatient. He was tired and cold and just wanted to get back home, not make this whole thing a two-hour ordeal. Normally, Sully came right along without a fight, but that was probably because he was usually a lot more drunk.   
  
"Sul…let's go." He prompted again.  
  
"Damn it, Davis!" Sully erupted, losing his temper, "Quit meddling with my life! Just stay out—go away! Leave me alone, I don't need you!"   
  
That was the last straw. Ty clenched his jaw in frustration If that's what he wanted, Sully could drink himself away. Why the hell did he care so much anyway?   
  
"Fine—you know what, Sul?" He paused emphatically. "I've had enough."  
  
Shaking his head exasperatedly, Ty reached into his pocket and tossed Sully's keys back onto the counter. Ty knew Scotty would take the keys and call him a cab later. His angry footsteps echoed around the room as he stormed outside. When he opened the door, the frigid wind assaulted him, causing him to become even more irritated. 'Geez, it must be twenty below out here!' he figured crossly as he traipsed around the side of the building where he'd parked his car.   
  
"Awww, shit!"  
  
The dark alleyway was empty. His car was gone. Great.   
  
Ty stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space and trying to decide what to do. He needed to call it in and file a report, but at the late, or rather early hour, not much would be done about it. He had two options. He could go inside and ask Sully to use his car, or he could walk the four blocks back to his apartment. He glanced back at the bar. He was way too mad to go back in there; he would walk. It wasn't that far anyway.  
  
Fuming, he stuffed his gloved hands into his pockets and set off down the street.  
  
**********  
  
Faith took a sip of her Bloody Mary, relaxing as the smooth, spicy drink trickled down her throat. As they had left work to go home a couple of hours ago, Bosco had asked her to go get a drink with him and some of their friends form the firehouse. At first she had refused, not wanting to stay out late, but she had reluctantly agreed when he'd promised to buy. She hadn't had a drink in weeks and now she was glad he talked her into it.   
  
She sat quietly, her eyes habitually wandering from face to face, watching people. Bosco had long since abandoned her at the counter and was talking, well rather, boasting to Jimmy Doherty as the two of them swapped work-related horror stories. Doc was sitting next to her at the counter, his face turned up to the wall-mounted TV, watching a recap of that night's Knicks game and absentmindedly popping peanuts into his mouth.   
  
She smiled to herself. This seemed so right, so normal, and so different from the last few weeks of stress and abnormal events. For the first time in a while, Faith let herself unwind, soaking up the calm, ordinariness of the moment.  
  
**********   
  
The harsh wind bit forcefully at his cheeks as Ty tread wearily down the sidewalk. His stride was slow and cadenced, resigned. He typically would have been concerned about walking alone at night, especially on this side of town. But tonight he was more concerned with his partner's problems and his missing car.   
  
He was so deep in thought that he wasn't attentive to his surroundings, or the Geo Metro quietly idling in the shadows across the street.  
  
**********   
  
He licked his dry lips as he watched the young officer plod down the dark, deserted street…alone. He could feel his heart beating, pulsing with anticipation. Everything was going exactly according to the plan. This was so perfect.  
  
**********  
TBC...;) 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Chain of Darkness  
Chapter Thirteen--   
  
**********  
  
Sully settled against the backseat of the taxi, his eyes closing slowly as the even vibrations lulled him, entreating him to sleep. His head was already beginning to pound; an admonition of the hangover he had to look forward to.  
  
Remembering the last time he fell asleep in a taxi and the seventy dollars stolen out of his wallet, he forced his eyes open and focused on the dashboard clock, its green numbers reading 1:05, illuminating the cab with their soft hue.  
  
Davis had tried to pick him up, bring him home like he was an irresponsible child. Davis was the child. He was the responsible adult…Davis should treat him with more respect…Yeah, that's right…He'd have to have a talk with him…  
  
His eyelids drooped and his breathing became heavy as he slumped into a drunken slumber.  
  
**********  
  
He waited until the officer had walked past him and up the street a good hundred yards. Reaching up with his gloved hands he buckled the seatbelt across his chest. 'Safety first…' he thought with an evil smile.  
  
He slowly pressed his foot against the gas petal and released the brake. The car jumped ahead and was remarkably quiet as it quickly gained speed on the straight, empty road. Closer and closer he sped towards the lone figure, the speedometer reading 20…30…45 MPH.   
  
Finally, he was within a few yards of his target and he rotated the wheel slightly to insure a solid hit. He braced himself for the impact and at the last second, his victim turned to look.  
  
It was too late. He hit the young man with a loud, resonating thud and watched gleefully as he was thrown up and over the car, smashing the windshield, and then rolling and crashing against the hard metal as his body thumped over the roof.   
  
The speeding car didn't stop and slammed forcefully into the corner of a building, crushing the front bumper and hood. He sat back against the seat, breathing hard, relishing the emotions rushing through his body. None of the other killings had been so satisfying. Nothing he had ever felt before could ever compare to the feeling of absolute control and the immense pleasure that flooded his being.  
  
**********  
  
Ty didn't notice the humming of the car's engine until it was close. Too close and too fast. His brain had barely registered the sounds before his reflexes took over and his head snapped around to look.  
  
A small sedan was racing towards him, headlights off, way too close. 'He's going to hit me!' His thoughts were faster then his body and he didn't have time to react before he felt the car hit him from behind, shoving his legs out from underneath him.   
  
The next few seconds were a blur as he rolled up and over the hood, knocking and banging against the roof of the car, desperately trying to stop himself as everything went into slow motion. He could hear the sickening crunch of breaking bones, the roaring of his heartbeat, and the loud pop as the air rushed out of his lungs.   
  
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he finally came to a stop, lying on his back in the snow. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move, every part of his body screamed in pain as he felt his world growing darker and darker. He knew he was going to die…   
  
He struggled to keep his eyes open, still unable to breath and beginning to panic. He could hear the car door open, then slam shut and footsteps crunch in the snow, louder and louder as they came near.   
  
**********   
  
Bosco aimed up and shot the cue ball across the green pool table, sending the black eight-ball flying into the corner pocket.  
  
"Ha! I nailed you, Doherty!"  
  
Jimmy Doherty shook his head, smiling and showing his dimples. "Yeah, whatever, Bosco. That's like the first time you've beaten me in weeks."  
  
"So? I still beat you—you owe me a beer."   
  
Jimmy fished around in his wallet and pulled out a wrinkled five-dollar bill. "Here. That's the last time you're ever gonna win, so you'd better savor that beer."   
  
With a wicked smile, Bosco grabbed the cash and stuffed it in his pocket. "Won't need too. You want to try again right now?"  
  
Jimmy sighed and glanced at his watch. It was after 3am. "Nah, not tonight. I have to get home and get some shut-eye." He put his pool stick back on the rack and turned to leave. "See you later."  
  
"Yeah, okay—I think you're just chicken. I'm on a winning streak and you know it." Bosco called after him.   
  
***********  
He walked behind the car, his breathing ragged with exhilaration. The sight of the crumpled heap lying in the snow only exaggerated the feelings of power and elation he felt. He stood over the body, trying to contain his emotions, but finding himself grinning madly as he stared at the face of his latest kill. Poor, young, despicable Ty Davis. Oh, this was so great.  
  
But wait, Davis wasn't dead—his eyelids flickered slightly, and he let out a small, wheezing gasp. Damn it. The impact of the car should have killed him instantly—this wasn't how the plan was supposed to go. He felt himself starting to get angry but had another idea. Davis was supposed to die when he was hit…but a slow death was better, right? This time the plan would change; he would make an exception. He would leave him to die a deliberate, painful death.  
  
Looking around hastily, he looked for an appropriate place to dump the body. Somewhere where nobody would find it for hours, even days. His eyes fell on a tall, metal dumpster settled back at the end of a dark alley. Perfect.  
  
**********   
  
Jimmy jumped into his truck and revved the engine, prompting it to warm up. He switched on the radio, turning the tuning knob to his favorite station and shifted into 'drive'. The tires squealed slightly, slipping in the icy snow for a second before getting a solid grip. Pulling out of the parking lot, he took a left, deciding to take his usual shortcut home. The shortcut wove through a not-so-nice part of town, but it usually shaved a good five minutes off his driving time.  
  
His mind wandered, taking him back to that afternoon and the fight he'd had with his ex-wife Kim. She had wanted to keep their son, Joey, again for the third straight weekend. She said she wanted to take him somewhere before he had lashed out, reminding her that, he too was Joey's parent. He needed to spend time with his son. Besides, he really didn't want her to have Joey a whole lot, not after her 'accident'. He still didn't really believe that Kim, a skilled paramedic, could have inadvertently mixed drugs and alcohol, overdosing herself. No, he couldn't believe that.   
  
Kim must have picked up on Jimmy's indifference because she'd screamed at him about how it was only an accident and how she could handle her own child. She'd nearly killed herself and she wanted him to trust her with his son?   
  
He shook his head incredulously, and raked his fingers through his dark hair. Trying to drown out his thoughts, he cranked the radio up a few notches.  
  
Humming to the music, Jimmy took a right after he'd passed an old bar, a familiar landmark, turning his truck onto a long, straight road. No streetlights lit this street; rock-throwing teenagers had vandalized them all, most likely. He switched his high beams on, cutting into the darkness with two, bright shafts of light. Noticing the thick ice and snow covering the street he slowed down considerably, trying to avoid getting stuck in the mess.   
  
He scanned the road for ice slicks and noticed something up ahead, jutting out from the sidewalk, blocking off a good quarter of the street. Jimmy leaned forward, trying to get a better look, and made out the silhouette of a small sedan crushed against a building. A gray Geo Metro…The car looked so familiar…He frowned; trying to remember whom he knew that had one. He pulled his truck up behind the car, trying to see if there were any people inside, but it was too dark too tell. The car's hood had been crushed up, almost touching the shattered windshield—It had to have been going awfully fast to do that much damage.   
  
His fireman's training kicked in automatically and he pushed the stick shift into park and jumped out of the truck to go check out the damage, half out of intuition, half out of curiosity. Jimmy ignored the fierce cold and treaded quickly up to the small compact, recognizing the long scratch down the passenger side. He was right; he did know that car—Davis' car. Ty had been so mad last summer when his car had gotten keyed but Jimmy had just laughed; the car was a piece of junk.  
  
He walked hastily over to the other side, not sure of what he was expecting to see, but was surprised to see the driver's door ajar, the seat empty. Ty loved that car, only God knows why, and he wouldn't have left it there with the door wide open. He frowned again, confused. Maybe Ty had gone to look for a phone.   
  
Just to make sure there wasn't anyone in the car Jimmy stuck his head inside, looking over to the empty back seats. His eyes traveled up to the vacant passenger seat and the small silver object settled down in the cushion—A cell phone.   
  
"What? Why didn't he just use the cell?" he thought aloud, feeling uneasy and disquieted.   
  
Something wasn't right.  
  
Straightening up, his eyes suspiciously roamed the street then turned to the dark alleyway next to the crushed car. It was too dark to see anything, so he jogged back to his truck, pulled out a blue flashlight and switched it on. The bright ray lit up the street, helping to ease his alarm a bit.  
  
He waved it across the alley, hoping he wouldn't find anything as the light hit boxes, trash cans, dirty snow and an old dumpster. His flashlight paused, something was hanging out of the dumpster. Jimmy squinted and took a few steps forward, trying to make out what it was.  
  
His breath caught in his throat. A dark hand was dangling out over the side, unmoving.   
  
"Oh no…Oh God, no!" Jimmy sprinted up to the dumpster and stood under it, staring at that hand and willing himself to climb up and into the tall, metal…coffin. The thought made him nauseous as he grabbed a hold of the side and hoisted himself up, struggling not to vomit.  
  
He straddled the dumpster's cold, steel side and pointed the flashlight at the motionless body, praying he was wrong.  
  
Jimmy gasped, unprepared for the sight in front of him. He was right....it was Ty.  
  
**********  
TBC... Sorry about that lil cliffhanger :) I'll have the next part up shortly. Thanks for all your support, you guys are so great! 


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Chain of Darkness  
Chapter Fourteen--  
  
A/N: Hey guys, I'm really sorry that this is short--I typed out this last bit in a hurry because I have to leave for the airport in like, ten minutes! Dont be mad at me--I really tried to get out more :) I will be back in a few days, just a short business trip to DC, but I wont have my comp with me :( Okay, anyway, thank you all soooo much for the terrific reviews--I'm so glad I'm not a complete failure at the whole fanfic thing! More will be posted by Tuesday, I promise!!!  
**********  
  
Jimmy sat there for a long moment, balanced on the edge of the dumpster, fighting to deny what he was seeing. He closed his eyes for a moment, the urge to vomit burning the back of his throat. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't happening. It wasn't real. He opened his eyes again, half-expecting the horrible images to be a dream, but nothing had changed.   
  
Jimmy moved his flashlight up the body. Maybe he wasn't …dead. The possibility seemed obscure. Blood caked the right side of Ty's face, indicating a serious head trauma and his jacket, gloves, hat and scarf were missing, leaving him scantily dressed in the sub-zero temperature. His legs were bent at odd angles and spots of dark red littered his once clean, white shirt.   
  
Swallowing hard, Jimmy moved in shock, almost robotically up towards the unmoving body, forcing himself to follow training and instincts.   
  
Check for pulse, check for breathing, don't move the…body—you could inflict further damage, don't let your emotions get in the way. The lessons and rules that once seemed so stupid and amateur to the experienced firefighter, played back and echoed through his head.   
  
Instinct and his emotions were clashing, the former telling him to follow the book, do everything the right way, while the latter screamed out, compelling Jimmy to grab his friend up, get him out of there.   
  
"Don't move him, Doherty, do the right thing," he mumbled to himself, trying not to act on his impulses. Shaking, he reached up to feel for a pulse. His gloved fingers sought movement but instead felt nothing but disturbing stillness.   
  
Not satisfied, Jimmy yanked his right glove off with his teeth and felt again, his bare hand pushing up against Ty's throat, grimacing at the feeing of cold skin and thick, sticky blood.   
  
There it was—A small, slow, rhythmic thumping. Davis wasn't dead.   
  
He leaned over, putting his ear close to Ty's open mouth, listening for breath. The slight movement of air could hardly be called breathing, but Jimmy didn't care. He was alive, barely, but alive nonetheless.   
  
Seeing the blue color of Ty's lips, Jimmy pulled off his thick jacket and spread it over him, shivering as the freezing night air assaulted his body.  
  
"Ty? Hey, buddy, can you hear me?" No movement came from the still form. Scared that he would lose him, he kept his fingers pressed firmly into Davis' neck, keeping the slow pulse under his fingertips. "Stay with me, buddy."   
  
He needed to call for help. Remembering the cell phone he'd dropped into his pocket, Jimmy quickly fished it out and dialed the emergency number.   
  
**********  
  
Faith stood at her bedroom window, watching fog swirl around the city skyscrapers, unsure why she was still awake. At first, she was sure it was because of the few drinks she'd had earlier, but now she knew. Something was wrong. The initial feeling of restlessness had since turned into a strange, heavy agitation.  
  
She knew that the killer was out there right now, choosing his next target, perhaps. Maybe the victim was already dead, lying in a pool of blood, waiting for someone to discover the corpse. Faith shuddered at the thought.   
  
A sleepy voice startled her. "Faith? Come back to bed, baby…"  
  
Faith looked back, turning from her stance at the window. "Okay."  
  
She would go back to bed, try to get some rest, try to sleep away the awful feelings roiling inside her.  
  
**********   
  
Jimmy felt the arctic wind cut through his sweater like needles. He had moved down into the old dumpster in an effort to shield himself from the icy gusts, but it was to no avail.   
  
His ungloved right hand was numb from exposure, but Jimmy didn't seem to notice. Adrenaline and sheer panic had kept him warm enough. Ty hadn't moved at all since Jimmy had found him, and it was starting to worry the normally calm firefighter.   
  
The slight, steady pulse under Jimmy's fingers was beginning to slow and his shallow breaths became almost non-existent.  
  
"Ty, c'mon, stay with me," he begged, his own breath thick and white. "Help is on the way, just hold on…"  
  
A moment later, he lost the pulse entirely.  
  
Cursing, Jimmy moved his hand, probing for the elusive throbbing. "C'mon…" he murmured, half to himself.  
  
"Ty, man, stay with me here." He placed his hands over Ty's chest, ready to begin chest compressions, but was unsure of the extent of internal damage. If Davis had any broken ribs, the normally life-saving CPR could prove deadly, pushing a rib through his heart or a lung.   
  
Jimmy cursed again loudly, "Alright, okay, hang on, buddy." Opting for a less destructive alternative, he tipped Ty's lifeless head back and began mouth-to-mouth.   
  
*********   
  
Matt groaned loudly and rolled over in bed, pulling a pillow over his head to muffle the awful racket. It took him a full minute be fore he woke up enough to realize it was the phone. That damn phone. The handset rattled noisily against the base as he picked it up, still half asleep.  
  
"Yeah…" He winced at the ruff, groggy sound of his voice.  
  
He listened a moment. The person other end sounded awake, alert.  
  
"Yeah, this is Harrison…Oh…I see…Really?" He sat up in bed, surprised. "Yeah…Alright, I'll be right down."   
  
Shaking his head in amazement, he placed the phone gently back in its cradle. The latest victim hadn't died. This was crucial. The killer had screwed up.   
  
*********  
  
The sirens started as a faint wail and as they came nearer were shrill with urgency. Jimmy continued to breathe for his friend, listening to the racket of the sirens, the car doors slamming shut, the hurried footsteps as the life-saving paramedics made their way into the alley.   
  
"Over here!" he yelled, pausing a second to check for a pulse. The steady beat hadn't returned. "Hurry up!"  
  
A moment later, the metal sides of the dumpster rattled and a head peered over the side. The paramedic took a long look, sizing up the situation. "Okay, guys, I need a bag and a backboard over here," he called back to the ambulance, "Let's hurry it up!" Then to Jimmy, "You all right?"  
"Yeah. He's got no pulse, been down for about 4 minutes," Jimmy informed him. He resumed CPR as a few men climbed up and over into the dumpster, hauling in a bright orange backboard and numerous bags of medical supplies.  
  
A tall paramedic moved in, gently moving Jimmy out of the way to check Ty's vitals. "No heartbeat or breath sounds, let's bag him and get him out of here, bring me some saline and the paddles!" he ordered.   
  
Jimmy backed off as they moved in and placed an oxygen bag over Ty's open mouth, pumping vital air into his empty lungs. They worked quickly as they fastened a neck brace around his head, and then carefully rolled him onto the backboard, strapping him in tightly. Jimmy grabbed one of the handles along with the other men, needing to help somehow.   
  
"Okay, guys, on my count," the paramedic ordered. "One…two…three!"   
  
Straining, they all lifted together, pushing Ty up, over their heads and out of the metal box, to the waiting hands below. As soon as he was out, the paramedics wasted no time, hooking him up immediately to various heart monitors and IV lines, "Still no rhythm. Get me Epi and charge the paddles!"   
  
Jimmy watched numbly as they arranged the paddles on Ty's bleeding chest, visibly shaken and cold, his heart pounding in fear. Nothing in his whole career had been so disturbing, so hard to watch; so hard to believe in its reality.   
  
Police cars pulled in, their lights casting a kaleidoscope of red and blue across the graffiti-marked alley walls. People ran around him madly, but he hardly noticed them, his eyes and thoughts focused intently the brightly colored backboard and its burden. Time moved into slow motion, images of the scene burning themselves permanently into his memory.   
  
"Clear!" The shout resonated through the noisy alley, piercing into his stomach, turning it painfully. He took a slow, shaky breath, willing Ty to respond.   
  
Davis jerked upwards as electricity shocked through his body. The shriek of the monitor drowned out the frantic calls of the paramedics as they hastily loaded him into the waiting bus. Jimmy moved to go with them, but was pulled aside by a cop. "Sir, you need to stay here, get checked out."  
  
Jimmy just stood there and nodded dully, "Please let him be okay…" he prayed silently.  
  
**********   
  
Matt buttoned the top button of his overcoat as he made his way hurriedly into the derelict alley. The crime scene was fresh; he'd just seen the ambulance carrying the injured officer scream down the street. This was good. Sometimes clues were lost as time went by.   
  
He flashed his badge at the nearest officer, "I was told that you have the guy that found him here. Where is he? I need to talk with him." The cop mutely pointed at a tall young man, sitting on the back bumper of an empty bus.   
  
Matt studied him for a moment. The young man sat slumped over, his elbows resting on his knees, a tense look on his face. His dark eyes were nervous, worried, almost anxious. Matt had been told a few minutes ago that he was a close friend of the injured party. It was evident in the way he listened closely to the CB radio that had been handed to him, wincing noticeably every time another call blared from the microphone.   
  
Praying madly for a break in the case, Matt walked up to him, nearly crossing his fingers. "Please, please, please, give me something," he whispered.   
  
**********  
  
Faith didn't hear the phone until after it had rang five times. Fred picked it up, mumbling gruffly a hardly-coherent greeting. "It's for you…"  
  
He handed the phone to her sleepily before turning over, falling back to asleep.  
  
Faith struggled to wake up fully, shaking her head to clear the haziness of sleep. "This is Faith."  
  
"Faith? It's Jimmy," he sounded strange, his words tight and strangled, "Um, I'm at the hospital. Ty…" his voice cracked.  
  
"Oh my God…oh God, no!" Faith felt her heart jump into her throat, imaging the worst had happened. Fred rolled over next to her, awake, a questioning look on his face.   
  
"No, Faith. It's…He's not dead. He's, uh, he's in surgery. Its pretty bad…"  
  
"I'll be right down," she hung up the phone and got out of bed.  
  
"Faith?" Fred whispered, clearly confused.   
  
"Ty," she answered simply, trying not to cry, "He's in the hospital. He tried to kill Ty…"   
  
Fred's eyes got wide, "Oh, God."  
  
**********  
TBC... 


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Chain of Darkness  
Chapter Fifteen--  
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A/N: Well, here it is--Just like I promised! Enjoy and please tell me what you think--your feedback is great, and always very much appreciated!!   
  
**********  
Bosco sat in the hospital waiting room. The room was aptly named. He had lost track of time since Faith had called him last night, or was it this morning? He shook his head-it didn't really matter.   
  
A bunch of well-known faces crowded the room, Faith, Jimmy, Kim, and Doc were there, all waiting for a doctor to come in to give them relief from the unknown, however good or bad the news was. He was here, came as soon as he had gotten the call; partly out of support for a friend, and partly because he didn't want to stay one more second in his apartment alone. The silence of the night and the knowledge of the killer's latest strike would have never let him fall back to sleep, and a trip to the Emergency Room was a welcome option. Sitting here was better then sitting alone in a well-lit house and hoping the brightness would ward off anything.   
  
He looked around the room again. Where the hell was Sullivan?   
  
Sully had yet to show. There were a few cops out there looking for him, combing the bars of the city, Faith had asked if they would. This was so typical. His partner was in the hospital, dying, and he was nowhere to be found. Probably off somewhere getting drunk. Jag-off.  
  
If he were in the hospital, Faith would be here for him, Bosco mused angrily, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his black hoodie. His eyes involuntarily roamed the room, resting on each of his friends and coworkers, trying to read their thoughts and sentiments through their body language. He could tell Faith was shaken; she was twisting her wedding ring up and down her finger, something she only did that when she felt out of control or anxious. He wanted to talk to her, but he didn't know what to say. Somehow he'd say something stupid and make her mad or cry or something. She didn't need that now.  
  
Jimmy was slouched deep into his uncomfortable chair, and for the first time since Bosco had met him, he'd lost his cocky, 'I'm-invincible' exterior. His jovial dimples were gone, replaced by furrows in his brow and a look of fearful worry. His hands were still crusted with dried blood and dark smudges of dirt streaked his face. Faith had pulled Bosco aside when he had arrived, telling him about Jimmy; about him finding the body. She warned him not to say anything, how had she put it, "inflammatory"? Yeah, inflammatory. Taking one look at Jimmy was enough to stave off any unwelcome comments, though. His tough-guy façade was gone and that scared Bosco half to death.  
  
Three seats in the corner of the room were taken up by Doc, who had stretched out a little, his back against the wall and his legs crossed evenly across the seat cushions. Doc was used to this, sitting in waiting rooms, being involved in life-or-death circumstances. He was a paramedic-this probably didn't faze him. But on the contrary, he seemed really disturbed, a rare sight for anyone who knew him well. Doc didn't scare easily. Yeah, he could get pretty worked up about stuff, but he had about the most level head around.   
  
Kim was the only one of them that had shed any tears, but that was Kim. She was the emotional one, but that was okay. If someone weren't crying, it wouldn't feel right, sorta like they all didn't have feelings or something. Her eyes had long-since dried but they were still rimmed in red. She kept glancing at Jimmy, her looks held all sorts of questions but she never spoke to him. Maybe she didn't know what to say. Or maybe they had another falling out. Yeah, that was probably it.   
  
His eyes averted from her face and glanced down at his hands. They were hidden well in his pockets but he could still see them shaking lightly through the thick cloth. When he'd gotten the phone call, he'd let it ring, afraid to pick it up. He rarely ever got phone calls and never that late at night. He had been so sure that something terrible had happened to Faith. Just the thought of it had made him feel sick.  
  
He had finally convinced himself to answer it and had been thoroughly relieved to hear her voice; it wasn't about Faith at all. She was all right.  
  
Now, as he thought about it, guilt surged through him. How could he have been so selfish? So inconsiderate? Ty was nearly killed and all that he could think was how glad he was that it wasn't Faith.  
  
Damn you, Bosco.  
  
The waiting room door squeaked open and a short man clad in bloodied scrubs entered, a serious, tired look on his face. He still had his mask around his neck and his feet, enveloped by paper booties, made a faint swish across the industrial linoleum floor. He paused in the center of the room and frowned slightly, as if unsure whom he should be talking to.  
  
The room was deathly quiet, each one of them dreading the first words out of the surgeon's mouth.   
  
"Hi, I'm Dr. Lewis," he began calmly, "I assisted in Officer Davis' surgery. I-"  
  
"Is he okay?" Kim cut him off, standing up and crossing her thin arms nervously.   
  
"Yes, he's alive, but in critical condition. His injuries were severe-I'm surprised he made it this far…" His voice trailed off, a mix of amazement and saddened fatigue. "But, we were able to repair most of the damage, and move him up to ICU. He sustained a severe concussion, multiple broken ribs, a collapsed lung, and substantial internal bleeding-we were able to stop that, fortunately. He also had a bad fracture of the left femur, but we haven't set that yet. What really worries me is the head trauma. We haven't done an MRI yet, so we don't know the extent of the swelling or damage and he may slip into a coma. He was extremely lucky to be found when he was. If it was much longer he would have never made it." He paused. Was he waiting for questions?  
  
Faith took his momentary lapse as a cue, "So, he's gonna be okay, right?"   
  
"Well, we're optimistic. He seems to have stabilized well, but he's not out of the woods yet. We'll know more in the next forty-eight hours." His pager buzzed nosily at his hip. "That's the OR-Is there anything else I can answer for you?"   
  
Optimistic? What the hell? That's real comforting…  
  
"Yeah, when can we see him?" Faith's voice was soft.  
  
"In a few minutes. The nurses are getting him settled in and cleaned up right now."  
  
"Okay."  
  
The doctor exited hastily, no doubt to rescue someone else from death's door. A long, deep sigh came from Doc as he sadly shook his head back and forth, mirroring all of their feelings of relief and weariness. Kim was crying again. Not the sobbing kind of crying, but the kind of crying when the tears just seem to seep out of your eyes uncontrollably. She looked back at Jimmy. He had his head tipped back, staring intensely at the ceiling as if thanking the Almighty for a great save.   
  
The door burst open again, but this time it was Martin Nash from the night shift, dragging in a familiar figure behind him. A drunken, familiar figure. The room was immediately flooded with the strong scent of vodka and gin as Sully stumbled in.  
  
"Found him passed out on the stairwell in his apartment building. Had a bit too much to drink, obviously." Nash offered a grim smile. "How's Davis?"  
  
Faith began to answer him, but her voice faded to a low, unintelligible mumble as Bosco focused his attention angrily on Sully. Davis' numbskull partner looked around at the group stupidly, not knowing exactly what was going on; too damn drunk.   
  
Bosco's emotions were ragged from the last few weeks of ups and downs, and he felt rage building inside him, boiling furiously. He clenched his hands into tight fists, struggling not to do what his body and mind screamed for. That's when Sully spotted Doc and smiled foolishly, not a big smile or anything, but it was enough. Enough to send Bosco over the edge.  
  
He hardly felt himself as he leapt out of his chair, toppling it over with a loud crash. In less then a second, he had harshly pinned Sully up against the wall, his hands clenching Sully's collar in a death grip.   
  
"You fat, son-of-a-bitch! You think this is funny? HUH?" Bosco yelled, punctuating each syllable with a jerk of the collar. Sully's head bounced against the wall lightly, making an oddly satisfactory popping sound. "You are so full of it, Sullivan! Selfish jag-off!"  
  
Hands grabbed at him, but Bosco was lost in his own world of rage. He slammed Sully's head against the wall again, this time as hard as he could. The noisy thud couldn't be heard above his loud ranting as he let out a string of four-letter words. Sully just kept looking at him, his face a mask of pain now, but that same stupid, clueless look showing right through.  
  
Jimmy and Nash pulled Bosco away, his chest heaving with fury and exertion, his hands trembling violently, and his bandaged left arm throbbing with reproach from the effort. Faith moved in front of him, "God, Bosco! What the hell is wrong with you?"  
  
"This stupid jag-off, that's what! Can't even be here for your own partner, can ya, Sullivan? No, he's too busy being a selfish, fat-ass drunk!"   
  
He pushed towards him again, but firm arms prevented any such movement. Bosco just slapped their hands away. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna hit that scum-bag again…" He got up close to Sully's face, "He's not worth it!" Bosco snarled and stormed out, practically running through the ER until he was outside.   
  
His anger seethed, shrieking at him, and he slammed his fist against the red brick a few times until it burned in pain. Somehow the ache made him feel better, reminding him that he could still feel. He'd spent so long repressing his emotions, trying to be strong for Faith, trying to keep up his 'Supercop' persona. It was too much. Too much to handle. For the first time in…well, it had to be upwards of twenty years, he broke down and prayed.  
  
"God, if you're up there…" he breathed furiously; rolling his narrowed eyes upward to the vast skies; angry, scared, confused, and defeated. That was all he could get out. If God really cared, he'd help them.   
  
He sank down against the wall, overwhelmed, clutching his coat in his hands. His gold 55 pin gleamed up at him, a glaring reminder of the situation they were in. That pin was like a giant target, painted right on his forehead, screaming: 'Hit me!'   
  
How ironic, the pin that he once was so proud of, the one thing that set him above the rest of the population-was now the golden signature on his death warrant.  
  
**********  
  
Matt stood near his partner's desk, nervously rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. His hand held his fifth cup of coffee, the steam rising lazily off the dark brew. Every few seconds he glanced at the clock, a habit that he'd have to break-it only made the minutes stretch out in their entirety and seem much longer. The time was inching along at a snails pace and his impatience was getting stronger with every soft tick of the second hand.  
  
"Matt, sit down-please, you're making me nervous." Sam pointed to the empty chair across from him. His young partner was about as patient as a kid on Christmas morning. The thought of that made him smile a bit.  
  
"Sorry," Matt's eyes were wide and bright with anticipation, "I guess I'm just…I don't know, anxious." His whole being itched expectantly, but he sat down anyway. He stared at the phone, waiting for it to ring with the news.   
  
"So, what's your take on this guy?" Sam asked, referring to the serial killer, pulling Matt away from his restless thoughts for a moment. It would be better for him, get his mind cleared a second, get back to thinking strategically about the case.  
  
"Other then a disturbed son-of-a-bitch? I think he's a vicious control freak and a planner-smart. He knows what he's doing. He likes to think of this all as a game, play us; it's all about revenge and winning. Revenge for what..now there's the big question."   
  
Sam solemnly nodded in agreement; his young partner had described his own conclusions to a tee. "Scary isn't it?"   
  
"Yep, he's a scary one alright." Matt's tone was slightly disinterested, as if this was old news.  
  
"What do you think about the latest development?"  
  
"What? The fact that the guy screwed up royally?" Matt snorted. "Here's my guess: I think it's great for us, bad for him, and potentially disastrous for the cops."  
  
"Why's that?"  
  
"Well, since he messed up we have the opportunity to get decisive evidence against him - that's good for us. He found out that he isn't perfect - that's bad for him. Now here's the scary part," Matt leaned forward and lowered his voice into his slow drawl. "He gets mad. Sees his mistake and blames the cops…the result could be mass murders, two, three, ten at a time. He doesn't care anymore because he already screwed his plan. See?"   
  
"Geez, Matt. I don't even want to think about that." Sam shook his head, feeling very troubled by his partner's uncanny perception. "That's worst case scenario."   
  
"Sam, you gotta think about the worst case-that's what's going to happen. You have to get past it and get over it, 'cause that's what we do."  
  
**********  
TBC... 


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Chain of Darkness  
Chapter Sixteen--  
.  
**********  
  
A/N: Just wanted to thank my very loyal supporters, Orison, Cosmic Castaway, Mulderette, ace, ljae... Your reveiws just make my day and really encourage me to finish this! Here's the latest installmeant, enjoy!   
  
**********  
  
Faith grabbed an ice pack from the fridge and walked back into the firehouse's near-empty dining room. The ice was for Sully, but her head was aching from stress and she was tempted to press the cold bag against her own forehead. The mid-morning hour was bright and sunny, making her headache worse and painfully reminding her that she still had to remain awake the rest of the day. 'Save yourself, Faith' she advised herself, 'Today you're in for a long haul.'   
  
The whole bunch of them, save Bosco, who hadn't returned, had left the hospital a short while ago when Ty's mother had finally shown up. Faith had called her as soon as possible, but she was out of town and had been hard to reach. When Faith broke the horrific news to her, she had cried profusely and promised to be on the next bus out of wherever the hell she was. Hours later, she had arrived, tears still streaming out of her eyes and a Bible clutched in her hands, ready to keep vigil by her son's bedside.  
  
Kim and Jimmy had left a few minutes ago, eager to sleep the last few hours before work, exhaustion and a looming shift both calling them upstairs to the communal bunkroom. Doc stayed downstairs with Faith, promising to leave a bit later to bring Sully back to his apartment.   
  
Faith didn't know why she was here, at the firehouse of all places, but she didn't want to go home now, there was no point with only a couple of hours before their next shift.  
  
She tossed the pack to Sully. "Put this on your head," she ordered brusquely, still upset about the scene he and Bosco had made earlier.   
  
She frowned. Bosco…could he ever keep his cool? She doubted it. This time he'd lost it, really lost it, and it worried her. She'd seen that fiery rage in his eyes before-he was well known for his temper-but this time an almost desperate vehemence had overpowered that look.   
  
"Oww!" Sully was groaning loudly, protesting the ice that Doc had placed on the sizable lump.   
  
"Oh, shut up!" Faith snapped. Now that she thought about it, Bosco wasn't so far off. If she weren't so distraught about poor Davis, she'd probably have done the same thing. Sully had been going downhill for a while, Ty taking the brunt of the workload, watching out for his partner, being so supportive. And what does he get? This? He didn't deserve this. Sully certainly needed a wake up call; maybe this was it.  
  
"Me shut up?" Sully's words were slow and slightly slurred. "It was your damn partner that just beat me up!"  
  
Faith felt her blood pressure rising. "You know what, Sully? You deserved that, every bit! Bosco was right, you are selfish!" she spat.  
  
"Faith…" Doc warned, a pleading look on his face. He looked utterly worn out and another fight was the last thing any of them needed. Faith bit her tongue. Sully was too drunk anyway; in a few hours he wouldn't remember any of this. It was a lost cause.   
  
"Go ahead home, Faith. He's not going anywhere," Doc remarked dryly, nodding his head at Sully, who was either falling asleep or passing out.  
  
"You sure you'll be okay with him?" Faith murmured. Doc was really going out of his way to help out. Sully wasn't a good friend of his or anything, but then she realized the obvious. There was no way she could get Sully home-he was twice her size.   
  
"I'll be fine; let him sleep it off some before I take him home."  
  
"Thanks…I'm sorry 'bout all this…" Faith sighed and gave Doc a thin smile as she turned and left, needing to get away before she started to cry. The events of the last few hours just wouldn't leave her alone, plaguing her with horrifying veracity, reverberating madly through her.   
  
Sights, sounds, scents; they were all coming back at once, her weariness only intensifying the nightmare.   
  
She could still hear and see everything perfectly…the sound of herself gasping at Ty's motionless form, lying on that hospital gurney. The tubes running from every spot on his body; the large bandages covering his head and chest; the swish of air as a machine breathed for him; the icy cold of his limp hand as she took it…   
  
Tears were welling up in her eyes, threatening to pour out and sting hot rivers onto her cheeks; the stress of everything reeking havoc on her emotions.  
  
She slid into her car, pushing the key into the ignition forcefully before she lost control and began to sob quietly.   
  
**********   
  
Matt glared at the report, his eyes nearly burning a hole in the page. He scanned up and down the sheet again and again, rereading it, hoping he'd read it wrong or there was a clerical error, but nothing had altered.   
  
How could this be?   
  
Sam was equally distressed; his head buried in his hands. The reports had come with no phone calls, no shouts of joy from an overjoyed Crime Scene Investigator. Only a single sheet of off-white paper now stained permanently with the bad news.  
  
Yes, DNA had been lifted from the car. The killer had been inside, had sat in the drivers seat and pummeled the vehicle into the unsuspecting officer. He'd left behind a few small pieces of himself, accidentally of course. They had been so thrilled to hear about the tiny flakes of dried skin on the seat, that single strand of hair. This was their break, Matt was so sure. But then came the cross analysis, checking the DNA against every documented criminal. The results were on that paper.   
  
They still had nothing.  
  
Oh, sure, now they had the flakes and the hair, each carefully preserved---the evidence to nail this guy. All they lacked was a positive match.   
  
Matt shrugged. "I guess we shouldn't be so disappointed. It was a long shot anyway. Well, at least now we know one thing…"  
  
"Hmmm?" Sam didn't bother to lift his head.  
  
"We know it wasn't some sort of grudge from some retribution-crazed criminal. You know, someone they put away…"  
  
"I wouldn't be so sure about that. Could be an older case, before DNA and blood tests. Could be a brother, a cousin or friend who felt he needed to get revenge, maybe of someone that got the death penalty. Who knows? People are so predictable sometimes, you think you have them, but then they surprise you. Bang, you're right back where you started from…am I making any sense at all?"  
  
"Yeah, I know what you mean. Listen, short of throwing ourselves in front of this maniac and begging for pity, what's our next move?"  
  
"Officer Davis. We need to talk to him…unfortunately, he's unconscious. I guess we keep pluggin' away at this, check everthing over again, hope we missed something." Sam sighed.   
  
"This guy is…way too good. He makes me sick. The worst part is that if we don't get anything from Davis, we'll need another victim. It's a catch-22." Matt paused, drawing out the silence emphatically. "I hate this."   
  
**********  
  
He stared at the screen, not believing what he was hearing. The reporter went on and on in her mournful, but phony, seriousness.   
  
"Now, at this time, the police haven't released a statement, but sources confirm that an Officer Davis was nearly killed by a hit-and-run driver earlier this morning. He remains in critical condition at Angel of Mercy Hospital…"  
  
Her voice trailed off, her forced sincerity turning to another story, but he had stopped listening.  
  
Davis was alive? How could that have happened? He had been so careful, so meticulous. There was no way; Davis was supposed to be dead, have no chance of survival. He'd made sure of that, taking his coat and hat and dumping him into that dumpster…   
  
He didn't know what to think, what to do. His plan had been altered yet again, this time by those damn cops. All he knew now was the burning feeling of anger that quickly flushed over him.   
  
He would make them pay for this…   
  
**********  
  
Bosco rotated the steering wheel, pulling the RMP around the corner a little too sharply. Faith felt herself slide across her seat, the centrifugal force pressing her tightly against the door.  
  
"Bosco, slow down."  
  
"Sorry." He straightened the wheel out again and eased off the gas a bit.   
  
Faith, tired as she was, noticed the considerable quietness that had enveloped her ordinarily chatty partner. The casual small talk that he used to pass time had been scaled down to only an occasional word here and there.   
  
His appearance had changed as well; his face wore a haggard look and casual neglect had allowed his normally close-cropped hair to grow longer, touching his collar in the back, his silky locks threatening to curl at the base of his neck.   
  
He contradicted himself now, his haircut--or lack of one, making him look younger, boyish, but his expressions and mannerisms seemed more mature, cautious and careful, very unlike his former self. No doubt, this whole chaotic fiasco was taking a real toll on him.  
  
Faith, annoyed by the lack of noise, found herself resorting to his role as the silence-filling conversation starter. "Hey, Bosco, I was thinkin', maybe we could pull over and take a break. You know, get some coffee or somthin'?"  
  
"Can't. That's breakin' the rules--we already had one. Don't want another disciplinary." His answer was short, nothing much to work with.   
  
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and since when do you follow the rules…?"  
  
He didn't answer. Just shook his head as if her questions were inconsequential.  
  
"Well, if you're gonna follow the book you'd better get that hair of yours cut soon." She remarked, reminding him of one of the job's oldest rules: Hair on men must be kept short, above the collar.  
  
"Can't." He was being so matter-of-fact. She knew that he did this when he got tired, but she was tired too and today it was driving her crazy.  
  
"Why the hell not?"  
  
"Cause' the place I used 'ta go to closed. Don't like those other fancy places."  
  
"What? Salons?"  
  
"Yeah. They never cut it right."  
  
Faith smiled. He was the child of consistency, had to have some stuff just so. But his haircut? Usually looked like a simple buzz job as far as she could tell.   
  
"Where did you go before?" she prompted. She was curious now, plus she had him talking-sort of.   
  
"Place down on 59th. Could get a hair cut for like, 12 bucks. I don't need all of that expensive shampooin' and stuff those salons do-just cut my hair."   
  
"The Hair-Cuttery? Fred takes the kids down there. Well, he used to at least. Aren't they the ones that give out the suckers if you sit real still for them?" she poked, teasing him.   
  
He laughed, as if remembering all of the free lollypops that he'd been given, his long-lost smile stretching across his face. Faith felt her heart leap, she was so relieved that he was happy again, if only for a moment. For one second life was back to normal; them laughing and teasing and cracking stupid jokes. She felt like crying again.   
  
"Yeah, that's the place…" He was still grinning and shaking his head.   
  
Oh God, she missed this. She missed him…   
  
***********  
  
Bosco walked into the smoky bar, searching for a specific face in the crowd of people. Ah, there she was-over behind the counter, serving drinks to a couple of middle-aged, beer-bellied drunks. He could see that pretty smile of hers plastered across her face. She talked and laughed, pretending to have a good time as those drunken slobs flirted openly, practically drooling over her. He shook his head. What a life.  
  
Pushing past a few dancing couples, he made his way to the bar and slid onto a stool, waiting patiently for her to notice him and come around. Maybe she was too busy tonight. Maybe he shouldn't have come…   
  
No, he needed to talk to her. Fighting the urge to leave, he toyed with a paper napkin and watched her. She was laughing at something one of the drunks whispered in her ear. She flirted back and poured another drink, sliding it over to them. She was a good actress. He didn't like seeing her like this, but her little games sold more drinks.   
  
Finally, she noticed him and her face lit up, this time genuinely. She strolled over, a huge smile on her face.   
  
"Maurice!" she cried happily, as she leaned over the bar and kissed him on the cheek.   
  
"Hey, Ma."  
  
"Maurice, baby, where have you been? I haven't seen hide nor hair of you for weeks!"  
  
"Uh, I've been busy." He hesitated, "Listen, Ma, can I talk to you?"  
  
She smiled, surprised. She and her oldest son didn't have the closest relationship. "Sure honey, let me just get these people taken care of. Are you hungry? Go into the kitchen and get something to eat. I'll be right back."  
  
He walked behind the bar and opened the small door to the back kitchen. The familiar smells of barbeque sauce and popcorn were ever-present in the tiny room, reassuring almost; a reminder that some things were the still same.   
  
He sank onto a chair and waited, mulling over his decision to come here. He wasn't sure exactly what possessed him confide in her, but it seemed to make sense the more he thought about it. His mother needed to know what was going on, he didn't want to worry her but she needed to know.   
  
Even though he wasn't particularly close to his mother, she and Faith were the only ones he ever really talked too. You know, the deep kind of talks, not the normal, everyday small talk--the stuff you don't want to drudge up, but want someone else to know about.   
  
He needed to talk to someone; someone he didn't have to put on his tough-guy act for. He had to be plain old Maurice with his Ma, she could see totally through him and his various masks. She was supposed to, she was his mother.  
  
The door swung open as she entered the room, her hands full of dirty mugs. She dumped them into the large sink and turned to face him.   
"Now, what did you want to talk about?"   
  
"Well, um," he paused wondering where to start. This was a bad idea. How could he tell her? How could he tell her about all the cops that had died? How he could be next…   
  
He tried again, "Well, ya see, Ma…"   
  
She noticed him struggling, "Maurice, did something bad happen? Is it Mikey? Is he in trouble?" Her voice had risen an octave and her eyes gazed deep into his, searching for an answer.  
  
He sighed heavily. Every conversation always came back to Mikey, his long lost, drug-addicted, and careless little brother. He should have expected it.   
  
"No, Ma, its not Mikey," He watched her shoulders relax. Shit, he didn't want to do this. She would just worry, be another person affected by this whole thing. That is what the killer wanted, to terrify as many people as possible, keep them living in constant fear. He couldn't do that to her.   
  
"Then what? Something at work?"  
  
"Yeah, I-"  
  
A crash from the front room cut him off and, loud, drunken laughter drifted in. His mother rolled her eyes, and grabbed a rag from the counter.   
  
"That's the third glass they've broken tonight!" she huffed and left to go clean the mess up, leaving Bosco alone…again. He was sick of being alone. He got up and left through the back exit, angry and frustrated, but relieved at the same time.  
  
He would get through this by himself.   
  
**********  
  
Faith watched her partner slowly pull on his Kevlar vest, carefully and systematically fastening each strap around his chest. For the first time in who-knows-how-long, Bosco had actually shown up early. Faith, of course, had arrived with plenty of time to change, and had been pleasantly shocked to see Bosco was already there, his back towards her, half-undressed.   
  
She had made some derisive comment, remarking about his newfound revere for the rules, but had quieted immediately when he turned around.   
  
He looked terrible. Yesterday he looked bad…but this… He had dark circles under his eyes, dulled considerably and bloodshot from lack of sleep, she assumed. His clothes were wrinkled looking as if he'd worn them to bed then tossed and turned all night and his usually neat hair was spiked up, small cowlicks giving him a bed-head. He had no smart-ass comeback, just a quiet, "Faith, not today."  
  
'My God,' she thought, 'it's really getting to him.' Seeing him like this almost worse then getting that late-night phone call from Jimmy. She had assumed his attitude and countenance yesterday was all from their long night, that he would be back the next day ready to kick some ass. But now she knew…he was petrified.   
  
Not that she wasn't scared herself; every waking moment of the day she was afraid, terrified half to death-for herself, for Bosco, for all the other cops. But Bosco was her rock, nothing fazed him. He laughed in the face of danger...That Bosco hadn't shown up for work today.  
  
**********  
  
He sat hunched over slightly in his chair, hands grasping a thick mug of coffee. The diner was loud and filled with cops, all on their lunch break. This was the perfect place to sit. He could see them, watch them, but they would casually pass him over. He was just another low life as far as they were concerned. Self-righteous cops.   
  
His eyes flitted from one face to another, recognizing many of them. There were only a couple that interested him, though. Their names had a certain disdainful ring as he muttered them softly under his breath.  
  
He took a sip of his hot drink as the door swung open, the little bell attached to the frame jingling merrily. He turned, grinning at what the sudden draft had just ushered in. That tall blond with her partner, the obnoxious one.   
  
He just smiled, mentally circling their names on his to-do list.  
  
**********  
  
TBC... Hey guys, if ya like this and want more soon, please review! It helps me to write faster! 


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Chain of Darkness  
Chapter Seventeen--  
  
.  
**********  
A/N: Just to let you all know, I had written the following crash scene before the season finalle and was very suprised that they were similar at places--Didn't rip anything off ;) Thank you to everyone that reviewed!!! I love you guys!! Enjoy!   
  
***********  
  
Sully opened his eyes a crack, his head a bit fuzzy. His eyes warily roamed around the room, unsure of where he was, before realizing he was in his own apartment, laying across his well-worn sofa.  
  
He groaned, sliding his feet off the edge to rest on the wooden floors with a soft thud. The light from the afternoon sun filtered in through the drawn blinds, casting bright streaks across the floor and furniture. His thoughts were hazy as he struggled to remember the last few hours.   
  
Something had happened. Something bad. What was it?   
  
His hands reached up, first rubbing his face, and then traveling through his hair. A sharp pain from the lump on back of his skull forced his fingers away. He frowned, trying desperately to remember how he'd gotten it.  
  
Little bits of the last day or so were coming back now. He saw Davis, his expression pleading with him, 'Sul…let's go.' Where had he been? A bar? That must be it.   
  
He saw Boscorelli; he was up close, his face right in front of him. Bosco was screaming something and jerking him back and forth, banging his head against something hard. Why? What had he done to him?  
  
He saw Doc; a disappointed look, a tense shake of his head. Doc was driving him somewhere. Here.   
  
He remembered waking up, needing another drink and immediately finding a full bottle of vodka, then drowning out everything chug after chug. He must have fallen asleep again after that.  
  
Sully closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, trying to put the small pieces together. An instant later everything came back, flooding through his head, a monstrous hurricane of horror.   
  
"No…" he whispered, shocked. Intense guilt and revulsion replaced any incredulous feelings that he'd felt just moments ago. He tried to catch his breath as it became more and more difficult to breathe.   
  
What had he done?   
  
***********  
  
"Hey! Let's keep it movin'!" Bosco yelled at another rubber-necker.   
  
He scowled. People were such morons, just didn't get it. They were only making things worse by driving past as slowly as possible, straining for a glimpse of the bloody scene. Their inquisitiveness was morbid, appalling. Did they have no decency?   
  
Bosco shook his head, disgusted, then knelt down to peer under an overturned SUV. "Hey, just hold on. We're gonna get you outta here real soon, okay?" he told the driver, a well-dressed businessman in his late fifties.   
  
The man, hanging upside-down but strapped in by his seatbelt, only nodded mutely. Blood from a bad head wound was running freely down his face, collecting in his hair before dripping into the pool of crimson fluid that had collected underneath him. That head wound didn't look good at all. Bosco gave him a grim smile, trying to act reassuring, but he knew if the paramedics didn't get here soon the guy might not make it.   
  
Bosco grabbed a clean handkerchief from his pocket, needing to help. "Hey, buddy, I'm just gonna put some pressure on this cut okay?" He was lying about the wound only being a cut, it was more like a cavernous gash, but there was no need to upset the guy.   
  
He looked up, surveying the intersection. The five-car pile up was hard to miss. Besides the SUV, an old, eggshell-blue Chevy had been rolled over and a white Lincoln was off to the side, totaled, the hood of the car crushed beyond repair. Shards of broken windshields and windows littered the street and large pieces of the vehicles were scattered everywhere. As usual, a few curious people lined the sidewalk, watching but not offering to help.   
  
As far as he could tell, the driver of the Lincoln was to blame for the mess. Looked as if he'd been driving a little to fast and ran a red light. Probably was in some kind of hurry to get somewhere. Everyone always was. Damn idiot.   
  
"Faith! Where the hell are the medics?" he yelled impatiently, his arm tiring from the pressure he was applying to the guy's wound. They should have been there by now. Typically, the buses were here quickly and they had called for them over ten minutes ago.   
  
His partner was busy with another car; a small, red compact. Compact is exactly the word he'd use to describe what the once sleek and sporty sedan now was. The front and back ends had been crushed up, nearly meeting each other, pushed as far towards the cab of the car as possible. Two young kids were pinned tightly inside, and Faith was being motherly and comforting them.  
  
"Three minutes out!" Faith called back. "They got stuck in traffic."  
  
"Figures." Bosco muttered under his breath before lashing out at another inquisitive driver. He could hear sobbing coming from the Lincoln, but from their initial check, knew the driver was okay and didn't bother to offer his sympathy. He really didn't have much pity for people that, out of their own carelessness, create these ugly pile-ups.   
  
The guy in the SUV was coughing. "Hey..." he weakly called out.   
  
Bosco ducked his head down again. The guy didn't look so good anymore. Well, he didn't look good before or anything, but now he looked really bad. His face was ashen, despite being hung upside-down for so long, and his lips were turning blue. From the cold or lack of oxygen, Bosco didn't know, but he knew the icy air that was blowing in through the shattered windows wasn't helping any.  
  
"You okay?" Bosco started to remove his coat to cover him, but realized that because of the way the guy was inverted it wouldn't stay on him. Instead he moved his body around to shield off some of the frosty gusts.   
  
The man's lips worked as he struggled to speak, "Please...tell my...wife that...I love her."   
  
Tears started to pour out of his eyes, clear and glistening in the soft dusk light. They rolled down the bridge of his nose, stopping to caress his brows before trailing swiftly across his forehead through the wet blood, swirling softly as they mixed.   
  
"Hey, hey, don't talk like that. You're gonna be okay, you can tell her yourself," Bosco assured him, then watched the older man draw a shaky breath and shake his head miserably.   
  
His expression was one of complete agony, not only from the intense pain he was feeling, but also from knowing he was going to die. He knew it and Bosco knew it, but Bosco didn't want to accept it as an option. This just wasn't right.   
  
"No..." The man's voice was barely discernable, the pain in his eyes glazing over, replaced with a blank, faraway look; one Bosco had seen too many times. The look of death.   
  
Bosco didn't know what to say, his emotions were catching in his throat as a massive lump. Blood was seeping through the soaked hankie, the sticky, wet rivers chilling his very core as they ran between his aching fingers before dropping down, joining the growing pool below.   
  
He felt so many things at that moment as he sat there, crouching down on his knees, feeling the man's vital fluid seep through his hand, and watching in silent despair as he hung there, dying. And he couldn't do anything for him, nothing.   
  
Suddenly, he realized that this is what all of the murdered cops had been put through; having to think their last thoughts about their loved ones, their last words of love and sorrow, never to be heard from them.   
  
He saw their faces; Barry, Jacobsen, Moretti, Gusler, Davis... all of them pleading, begging the killer and God to spare them, needing to live, or at least have closure. Cruelly, none of them were granted it, their families forced to live with the last words that had been spoken between them, however good or bad they had been.   
  
Bosco squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to rid himself of the awful thought. He couldn't even imagine how horrible it would be to die like that. This man was pleading with him to make those last thoughts and words known to his wife. It was the least he could do.  
  
"I'll tell her." His choked voice wasn't recognizable, even to himself.   
  
He watched the guy slip slowly away, his eyes getting cloudier and cloudier until finally he stopped breathing and went limp. Bosco was unaware of anything else but what was directly in front of him. He didn't react, just sat there staring, his bloodied hand falling away from the wound. The man was all of the officers that died, an innocent victim.  
  
55-Edward and a bus finally pulled up, their lights flashing brightly in the twilight. They were too late.   
  
Bosco settled back on his heels, clutching the blood-soaked handkerchief, completely lost in his thoughts and emotions, still unable to tear his eyes away from the blood, the body, the face...  
  
"Hey, what you got here?" Doc's voice was loud as he crouched down behind him. "He okay?"   
  
Shaking his head furiously, Bosco stood abruptly and paced small steps back and forth, his body not knowing where to go, what to do, his whole being crawling with an unseen agitation.   
  
Doc took a good look at the guy, and noting the considerable amount of blood that had pooled on the ground and the bad head trauma, he backed off, heading over to another car, another victim. They would worry about extracting the body later, after all of the remaining surviving people had been cut loose from their cars.   
  
"Okay. Carlos! Got a DOA over here," he shouted to his partner, letting Carlos know not to waste any valuable time checking on the passenger of the SUV.   
  
Bosco, cringing at the harsh reality of the relay, balled up his fists around the handkerchief, ringing wet blood onto the pavement. The sobbing from the white Lincoln was loud, reaching his ears, a strong reminder of who had caused all of this to happen. His attention focused on the man who had done this, this cruel act of malevolence. In his mind, twisted and strained from lost sleep and the intense last few weeks, he saw the man and then the killer. When he compared them, they were the same person, senselessly murdering people.   
  
His anger was acute and his fuse short. Bosco marched over to the car, and slammed his fist against the cracked doorframe.   
  
"Shut up!" he yelled at the trembling man. He flexed and unflexed his fingers, aching and itching to hurt the whimpering man. God, he just wanted to kill the guy right now. The guy that had just taken the life of an innocent man and was only sitting here crying about his own pain. Not the pain of the other man's family, his friends, his co-workers, but his own physical pain.   
  
Bosco stepped back, fighting with his inner demons and resisting everything that screamed for revenge. Revenge for all of the deaths, all of the needless pain and all of the fear.  
  
"Just...shut up," he said again, his voice flat.   
  
He looked past the man and could see Faith watching him, concerned. She would probably send him to that shrink again for this. He didn't care anymore.  
  
**********  
  
Doc gabbed a large bandage from the bag and started wrapping it around his patient's bleeding arm. The young man was moaning, and Faith sat to the side holding his hand, soothingly giving him encouragement. The kid would need at least two-dozen sutures to patch up his lacerated upper-arm and shoulder. The girl in the passenger seat was all right; she just had a few cuts and scrapes, remarkable, considering how badly their car had been mangled. The flashy sports car looked like it had been crushed easily, as if it were only a tin can.  
  
He heard a hard thud behind him and whirled around. Bosco was standing over the Lincoln, the car that caused the accident, yelling something at the driver, his fist raised. Sounded like he'd told him to 'shut up' or something.   
  
Doc frowned. What the heck...? The guy was in pain and only crying. He watched for a second, perplexed. Bosco looked as if he were struggling not to kill the guy, his hands balling in and out of fists, his breathing ragged. Then he stepped back and muttered something before looking up at Faith, his eyes dull and void of emotion. He looked so defeated, so vulnerable for a moment before he slowly shuffled back to his squad car.  
  
Doc raised his brow to Faith, but she seemed just as puzzled. They both seen Bosco lash out at Sully the other day, but now he was going after strangers?   
  
"I'm gonna go talk to him, okay?" she said softly.   
  
He nodded. There was no reason that either Faith or her partner needed to be here anymore. The fire trucks were here and additional ambulances had just pulled up. Jimmy and Lieu were working on getting the older lady out of the Chevy. Walsh and DK were on their way over with the 'Jaws' to free the kids that he was tending to.  
  
Carlos jogged over, his hands grasping his stethoscope as it flopped around, slapping against his leg. "Hey, Doc! I need some Morphine for the old lady over here."  
  
"Yeah, in the bag," he pointed, "Just make sure you don't give her too much."  
  
"I know, I know." Carlos rolled his eyes while kneeling down and selecting the correct syringe. "Hey, what's up with Bosco? He was acting kind of weird."   
  
Doc just shrugged. He didn't know exactly what was wrong with Bosco but he had a good idea. The last couple of weeks were getting to him, taunting him and reminding him endlessly how much danger he was in and how helpless he was, picking away steadily at the hard exterior he had created.   
  
Doc sighed. Poor guy.   
  
**********  
Sully stuffed his hands into his pockets nervously, hesitating in front the large, plate-glass doors. Doctors and nurses perambulated around inside, all busy checking and comparing charts, chatting amongst themselves about their last save or worst-off patient, unaware of the lone figure that decorated the empty hall outside.   
  
Sully swallowed hard. Through those doors lay the result of what had happened, what he saw as a terrible, but worthy consequence of his lack of responsibility, his lack of care. Everything in him told him to run, to go drink this away, but he didn't. Looking in the mirror every morning was already hard enough, but if he ran he would never be able to live with himself.   
  
Forcing his lead-filled feet to go, Sully shuffled ahead and the doors parted automatically with a soft 'whoosh', the bold, black 'ICU' lettering sliding gracefully to the side.   
  
Keep walking. Just keep walking... he kept up a constant patter of encouragement in his mind, willing himself into that dreadful ward. The smells of rubbing alcohol and antiseptic immediately assaulted him, strong and sweet, urging unwanted tears to spring up in his eyes.  
  
The young nurse at the front desk smiled slightly at him, tapping her highly glossed fingernails against the desk to the rhythm of a nearby heart monitor, her white uniform almost blending into the drably colorless walls behind her.   
  
"Can I help you, sir?" She sounded sickeningly saccharine, as if she had rehearsed that line over and over until she'd erased all traces of boredom.   
  
Sully cleared his throat around the lump that had formed inside; choking back the looming tears, "Uh, yeah. I'm here to see Ty Davis."   
  
The nurse cleverly replaced the alarm that immediately lit in her eyes with a blank look, half-smiled again and checked a paper. Sully knew she had been warned about the impending killer and how he could very well come back to finish his job. She obviously was told not to allow anyone in. "I'm sorry, sir, Officer Davis is in critical condition and only immediate family is allowed to visit. Are you family?"  
  
He could run now, he had a good excuse… No, he had to do this.   
  
Sully tried again, his will to see his partner overpowering any urges to flee. "You don't understand, miss. I'm his partner. I need to see him," he stated cogently as he slammed his badge onto the counter before her.  
  
The firmness of his tone must have compelled her, but she still faltered slightly before reluctantly nodding. "Just a second, sir."   
  
She picked up a phone and spoke softly into the receiver, calling the uniformed guard to the desk to check his credentials. The beat cop recognized Sully right away and stepped out of the way, giving him permission to clear his post.   
  
The young nurse motioned for him to follow, her shoes clicking softly against the gray linoleum. Sully silently trailed her; his hands, stuffed again in his pockets, were sweaty now and clenched tightly with trepidation. He could feel his fingernails digging into his palms but he ignored the stinging sensation, his focus entirely on the nurse's path as she wove through the hall.  
  
She stopped at a curtained-off 'room' at the end of the hallway and her hand reached up to grasp the partition, "He's right in here, Officer. Five minutes, okay? Then you have to go."   
  
She offered no other words of comfort, no warnings of what she was about to unveil, just a curt nod at his mumbled agreement to adhere to the allotted time. She dramatically pulled the ugly, blue and white pinstriped cloth aside, revealing Sully's worst nightmare.  
  
Sully felt his breath leave his lungs as a heavy sigh, a soft moan. Never in all of his years as a cop had he ever seen anything that disturbed him so greatly, the sheer magnitude of the situation slamming into him like a freight train, taking away his breath and his thoughts as it broke forcefully into his heart.   
  
His young partner, once healthy and robust, was a tangle of tubes and wires. Bandages and monitors covered his upper-body, half of his handsome face peeking out from behind heavy gauze stretched across his forehead. The tube running into his mouth and down his throat parted his lips slightly; his eyes closed peacefully in a comatose sleep. No movement came from him, save the rising and falling of his chest that was entirely generated by the ventilator.   
  
Sully's lungs were tight, void of any air as he felt himself walk up to the metal-framed gurney. The humming and beeping of the many machines chanted a symphony of death, a stirring reminder of the gravity of his partner's condition.   
  
The tears that Sully had so painstakingly suppressed were freely falling down his cheeks, stinging and hot. He grabbed onto the bed's cold, metal side-rail to steady himself before his trembling legs gave out on him.  
  
"Ty…" he whispered, unable to say anything else before his body succumbed to soft sobs of grief. This...Oh, God, this was all his fault…   
  
He carefully slipped his hand into Ty's lifeless palm and squeezed it slightly, wincing at the terrible limpness. The squeeze was a small token of all of the words he couldn't choke out, all of the words he so wanted to tell Ty.   
  
I'm here for you...   
  
**********  
  
He smiled at the array of weapons that lay on the table in front of him. Guns, rifles, switchblades, knives, rope... even an axe. His tools.   
  
He prided himself at the creativity that went into his kills. He never killed the same way. That was too easy. No, he liked to come up with cruel and unusual ways to knock off his prey. Like the last time, he used a car. The victim's own vehicle…  
  
Davis hadn't died but he would worry about that later. He could weave that little detail into his altered plan, no big deal.   
  
He shook his head, smirking. He was so great, so smart.  
  
His hand stroked the 'tools', lingering on the long-bladed knives. He loved the feel of a knife, the way the hand-carved handle felt in his palm, the way the razor-sharp edges gleamed before they were marred by sticky blood. His knives were so beautiful.   
  
He picked one up, its cool blade shining in the low light. He pictured thrusting the steel into a body, the feel of their muscles tensing around the foreign object, the look of painful shock on their face.   
  
He would save this for someone special. He smiled again. He knew just the person...  
  
***********   
TBC... Tell me what ya think :) 


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Chain of Darkness  
  
Chapter Eighteen--  
  
***********  
  
"So, this is all we have, huh? The extent of our investigation?" Matt's tone was slightly sarcastic as he held up the small, clear jars containing the strand of hair and flakes of skin that were found at the last crime scene.   
  
Sam waved his hand at them, gesturing with the manila folder he was holding, "Well, they aren't the only things we have now. Dana just sent down his profile. Looks pretty interesting, want me to read it?"  
  
Dana O'Rourke was the city's finest Criminal Profiler. Her work was excellent and always right on the mark. Hopefully her insight would provide them with some understanding of how the killer thought, perhaps even why he was doing this.  
  
Matt nodded, "Yeah, lets hear it."  
  
Sam opened the folder and scanned down the first page, "Says here, our guy is a planner, he spends a considerable amount of time on each case calculating, prepping, setting up, in order to outsmart the system. He has every detail planned out to insure that not one clue is left behind. She thinks this spree was set off by a previous event, jail time or perhaps collateral damage in a shootout, whatever it was it involved the police and he's seeking retribution. Down here it says: 'From my analysis of his past murders, I have concluded that this is much more then revenge for him, he wants to prove he can outsmart the police, a game to him. He's theatrical, though, he likes the game…"   
  
Sam stopped reading for a moment and his face screwed up into a troubled frown. "A game? He thinks this is a game? That's just disturbing."   
  
Matt felt nauseous, suddenly; his stomach turning in revulsion. This guy was so messed up, such a perverted monster. Dana was right; it was a game to him. The problem was that they were on the losing team.   
  
"All I know is that he's giving us the run-around and I'm sick of it," he sighed.   
  
**********  
  
"You okay?" Faith asked her partner.   
  
Bosco was slouched down in his seat, his head leaning against the window. He looked so worn out. She wanted to talk to him about what had happened earlier, but was afraid that he would just get upset and close her out entirely.   
  
"Hmm? Uh, yeah." He sounded distant, like he'd sounded before, but when he turned to face her, his eyes showed a small change. The dullness of this morning had been invaded by a dark, deep passion that Faith had never seen. "Listen, Faith, I'm fine…just a little tired. I haven't slept good in like a week."  
  
"You havin' trouble sleepin'?" Faith asked, concerned. When you work as a cop, you need all the sleep you can get. You have to be sharp. Sure, she knew that everyone at the 55 was little jumpy and restless, it was to be expected. She even had trouble falling asleep lately, her overstressed mind and body refusing to succumb to slumber for hours after she retired. But Bosco looked as if he hadn't slept at all in days.   
  
"Yeah, I just can't sleep sometimes, I guess," he sighed and rubbed his eyes, "I don't know, when I'm awake I keep seein' stuff, you know, like shadows or whatever, and when I actually do sleep, I have nightmares. It sucks."  
  
Faith turned to her partner, a bit surprised. He had nightmares? He was actually telling her this? What happened to the I'm-always-OK-I'm-a-macho guy he used to be? Bosco was opening up to her, finally, and she wasn't sure if she liked it so much. She liked the macho-man façade he put on; it was comfortable, normal. She was finding this change hard to deal with, she needed him to be unfazed by everything and act tough. Then her world wouldn't seem like it was spinning out of control.   
  
She glanced over at Bosco again. He noticed her disturbed gaze and smiled slightly, the left corner of his mouth turning up.   
  
"What? Am I freakin' you out?" he asked sarcastically, automatically switching back to the normal Bosco. A part of Faith felt relieved; she didn't know how to deal with the change in her partner.   
  
"Humph," she snorted, covering her relief with her usual snide comeback, "You could never freak me out, I've seen or heard it all from you."  
  
Bosco kept staring at her, studying her nervous smile. "You are freaked out!" he proclaimed, as if proud of himself. "I finally got you! After all of those times you got me with all of that 'you and Fred in bed' junk..." His face screwed up into a disgusted frown, "Ugh. Geez, it's easier than I thought."  
  
"Yeah, well, don't make a habit of it..." Faith shook her head.   
  
"Uh-huh, right." Bosco turned his gaze back out the window.  
  
A few minutes of semi-awkward silence passed before he piped up again. "You hear anythin' about Davis?"   
  
"Yeah, I called the hospital last night. He's in a coma; they have no idea when he'll wake up. They say it's still pretty serious."  
  
"You know what I was thinkin' the other night?" Bosco turned to face her, swiveling around in his seat. "Why the hell was Davis walkin' down the street alone in the middle of the night? I know his car got stolen or whatever, but why didn't he call a cab or somthin'? I mean, if I were him, I'd think somethin' bad would happen."  
  
"Yeah...something bad did happen." Faith mused aloud.  
  
"God, It just scares me. He got Davis, for cryin' out loud...he got Davis..." Bosco shook his head slightly and winced at the harsh reality.  
  
**********   
  
  
  
Martin Nash stole a glance over at his partner for the week. Young Thompson was engrossed in the morning paper, his eyes flitting back and forth quickly as he absorbed the sports section. Thompson had already proved himself an interesting partner, a bit on the green side and very cocky. His overconfidence had already run them into trouble a few times, but he reminded Nash so much of himself that it was hard to stay angry at him for long.   
  
Nash sighed and leaned his head against the headrest. He had been asked by Swersky to fill in on the third watch, his old shift, for a few days until they found permanent replacements for the unfortunate number of open positions.   
  
When his unit had gotten the call for substitutes, nobody had been eager to fill in. They all were very aware of the many deaths related to the third watch and were not enthusiastic to sign up for duty. For some reason he had felt obligated to help out, perhaps because he'd worked with many of them for years and years, or because it was the right thing to do.   
  
Horns from the busy intersection up the street blared, reaching their RMP and reminding him exactly why he'd transferred to a later shift. Rush hour. By the time he got on the streets normally, the traffic was gone and the city relatively quiet, for New York at least.  
  
Only three more days of this...only three more days... he told himself as he watched a white sedan speed through the busy intersection. Nice, idiot. Speed by a cop. That's real smart.  
  
Without alerting his engrossed partner, Nash flipped the sirens on and took off after the car, starling Thompson out of his paper. "What the hell?"  
  
"Speeder. Up ahead." Nash informed him matter-of-factly.   
  
Thompson grunted uninterestedly in reply and fastened his seatbelt as they raced through the intersection. The white sedan had slowed significantly as they caught up, the clogged street refusing to afford him a clear path. Nash pulled up behind and motioned to the driver to pull off. The driver reluctantly obliged and slowly pulled his car over into a nearby alleyway.  
  
After parking behind the offending car, Nash stepped out and strolled towards is slowly. His hand rested habitually on his gun; ten years of being a cop in the big city had scarred him with permanent on-guard mode, no matter the situation. Always be prepared; the golden rule.  
  
He tapped on the darkly tinted driver's side window and pulled out his ticket book. The window rolled down to reveal a very unhappy man in his late twenties. The man scowled at him, as if he should have been allowed to speed. This, after all, was his city was it not? Nash suppressed a smile at the amusing thought.   
  
"Sir, I need to see your license and proof of registration," he chanted automatically as he scribbled the date and time on the ticket slip.   
  
The man reached over into his glove compartment and rummage around for a moment before handing over a white card with his license.   
  
Nash took a minute to write out his information then started back to their RMP to run a license check.   
  
"Nash!" Thompson was sticking his head out of the window. "We just got a call in; shots fired, three blocks from here!"  
  
"Okay, radio us in, kid," he called back and turned back to the offensive driver. "Hey, pal, it's your lucky day. Drive safely now, okay? No more speeding." The driver nodded happily as Nash tossed his papers back to him.  
  
**********   
  
"Central to all available units, shots fired at 15th and Hodges."   
  
Faith felt her heart drop for a moment. Shots fired. Please don't be another cop…she pled silently.  
  
Bosco radioed in,"55-David to Central, 15th and Hodges." He glanced over at Faith with a worried frown on his face, "You think...?" he started, unable to finish the sentence as he turned on the sirens and made a hasty U-turn.  
  
"I don't know, Bos...I don't think so, they didn't say anything about a 10-13," she answered, trying to reassure herself as much as her partner.  
  
**********  
  
The cruiser's tries squealed slightly as Nash and Thompson pulled up to the intersection in question. A small group of pedestrians stood off to the side talking excitedly amongst themselves.  
  
Nash circumspectly searched for a body or a broken window glass, but everything seemed normal. "Where?" he heard Thompson ask impatiently.  
  
He didn't answer, but slowly exited the cruiser and glanced around again. Nothing. Everything seemed perfectly normal. For some reason he felt his heart rate jump and his adrenaline run. The eerie calm felt wrong.   
  
He unclipped his gun holster and rested his hand once again on his trusted defense. Maybe the group of people saw something. Nash walked over, still very aware of the possibility of a gunman somewhere near. He could hear Thompson's nervous breaths as he trotted up behind him, his boots slapping against the pavement softly.  
  
"Hey, did you call in a shooting?" he roughly asked the group of obvious tourists. If this was a prank...  
  
A short Hispanic man dressed in an 'I Love NY' jacket responded in broken English. "Si, si, eh...how do you say? A gun...si, a gun. Boom!" He gestured with his hands, throwing them out to demonstrate the loud sound of a gunshot.   
  
"Where?" Nash motioned to the intersection that was oblivious to any so-called gunshot. Maybe they heard a firecracker. People continued to set them off for weeks after New Years and the loud, popping reverberation could sound almost exactly like a gunshot, confusing most.   
  
The man had no answer, just a simple shrug of his shoulders and a shake of his head. They had no idea where it came from. Great.  
  
55-David pulled up right behind him and Boscorelli and Yokas immediately got out of their RMP. "What's goin' on Marty?" Faith asked, using his nickname. They had worked together for seven years before he'd changed shifts.   
  
"Uh, these people say they heard a gunshot, but I don't see anything out of kilter. Maybe they heard a firecracker."  
  
Bosco snorted loudly behind them, "God, don't you just love this city? Someone shoots off a firecracker and you get the whole police department runnin'."  
  
Nash rolled his eyes, "Yeah, yeah, I know. Lets just clear the intersection and get outta here."  
  
"Fine by me. The faster I'm back in my warm cruiser, the better. It's freezin' out here." Bosco remarked and started walking up the sidewalk, checking for anything out of order.  
  
Faith grabbed her CB, "Central, this is 55-David, false alarm at 15th and Hodges."  
  
"10-4, 55-David, clear the intersection."  
  
  
  
Faith nodded at Nash and his young partner and took off in the opposite direction as Bosco.   
  
"Okay, Thompson, check out that side." Nash commanded and quickly wrote out the 'statement' given by the tourists. "You can go now," he told them, his thumb and forefinger making a circle, giving them the universal A-OK sign, "Everything's okay."  
  
They smiled broadly and nodded, then made their way slowly down the street, headed for downtown.   
  
"Tourists," he muttered under his breath, smirking slightly at the way they were dressed. In New York, the tourists could usually be spotted from a hundred yards away, their attire giving them away entirely, even before you noticed the way they kept staring at the looming skyscrapers.   
  
"Okay, Nash, my side's clear. Looks like we're done here." Boscorelli called loudly as he ran up, slightly out of breath.  
  
"Yeah, okay. I'll do the paperwork on this one."   
  
"Good, 'cause I wouldn't know just how to write up stupid tourists hearin' a firecracker. Morons." Bosco shook his head at their blissful ignorance before changing the subject. "So, Marty, how do ya like workin' with Thompson here? Heard he's a little hard to handle."   
  
Nash opened his mouth to answer, but a loud 'crack' interrupted him, resounding through the intersection like a lightning bolt.   
  
The next thing he knew he was lying on the ground, his hands clutching his vest and the burning fire in his chest.  
  
**********   
  
Bosco didn't hear the shot until he saw Nash fall towards him, arms swinging up and grasping his chest. Wet, warm blood sprayed all over his face and in his mouth, the salty taste burning the back of his throat.   
  
  
  
"Nash!" he heard himself scream as he dove over his friend to protect him from another bullet.   
  
Oh, God, this isn't happening...he thought as he heard Nash start to choke. Get up, get up... he told himself, willing himself to help the struggling Nash.  
  
Bosco pushed himself off the ground and forced himself to look. Blood. There was blood everywhere. Nash, face down on the hard pavement, was choking and gasping, his mouth open wide but unable to get air. Bosco grabbed him and rolled him over onto his back. "Nash, where you hit? Where you hit?" he yelled over the awful choking sound.   
  
Nash couldn't answer, just kept clutching at his chest and struggling against the pain. Bosco pushed his hands out of the way and ripped his jacket open. There was so much blood. Where was it? Where was the damn bullet?   
  
"Oh, God." He whispered, finding the bullet hole. The deadly piece of metal had somehow ripped right through his vest, entering through the back and exiting out the massive hole now in his chest. "Hold on, buddy," he told Nash, whose lips were turning an alarming shade of blue. "Just hold on."  
  
Bosco tore off Nash's vest and lifted his undershirt. The hole was so big, too big. Little streams of crimson blood were spurting out rhythmically. It took a second for him to remember what that meant-An artery. The bullet had hit an artery. "Oh, God. Oh God, no..."  
  
He could vaguely hear Faith and Thompson screaming into their radios as they ran up. "Central, 55-David, Shots fired! Officer down! 10-13 at 15th and Hogan, Officer down! Requesting a bus at this location!"  
  
"Help me!" Bosco yelled at them, his hands pressing deep into Nash's wound, into his chest. Blood seeped around his fingers and ran out onto the ground. He felt his stomach turn in revulsion. Oh, God, please! His mind shrieked as he struggled against the nausea.   
  
"Bosco!" Faith screamed, "Are you hit? Oh my God, Nash!" She knelt down beside him, her hands quickly finding Nash's thrashing arms and holding the down gently, "It's okay, Marty. We got you, it's okay. Just breathe, breathe!"  
  
Nash continued to choke and gasp, his lungs not finding the breath they needed. His dark eyes started to roll back into his head.   
  
"No!" Bosco yelled at him, "Stay awake, Nash! Com'on, buddy!" He could feel the thumping of Nash's heart start to slow under his hands as the steady stream of warm blood leaked through his fingers.  
  
"Thompson!" Faith looked up as she shouted to Nash's terrified partner. He was standing to the side, just watching in horror, shaking. "Get down here, I need you to hold his arms down!"   
  
Thompson hesitated considerably before falling to his knees beside them and pinning down his partner's flailing arms. "Oh, God...Oh, God...Oh, God..." He kept mumbling, his eyes wide with panic.  
  
"Marty? Marty!" Faith tapped his cheek softly, but he didn't respond, his eyes rolling further back into his head and his strangled gasps becoming more and more infrequent.   
  
"He can't breathe! Do somthin'! Start CPR!" Bosco commanded harshly, his voice breathy with alarm. He pressed harder on the wound to stop the rush of blood escaping through his hands, but the rush of warm fluid refused to slow. Bosco suppressed his own rising feelings of panic and took a deep breath. "Oh, God," he prayed silently, "don't do this! Don't do this!"   
  
Faith tipped Marty's head back and began breathing for her friend, her mind tormenting her with the possibility of losing him. She refused to listen, instead focusing on the task at hand. Breathe, just breathe for him!   
  
Thompson, next to her, was starting to hyperventilate, his breaths coming quick and short. He had never seen anybody shot before; he'd never seen anybody…dying. Now his partner, his friend, was lying in front of him, not breathing with blood pouring out of his chest. He couldn't handle it; he was going to be sick.  
  
Faith noticed the rookie struggling, "Thompson, go get a rag or a towel or something! We need to put better pressure on that wound!" He hesitated again, his eyes fixed intently on his fallen partner. "NOW!" Thompson let out a frightened sob and took off running towards their cruiser  
  
Bosco fingers felt the soft thumping of Nash's heart slow even more, "Faith! He's... his heart is stopping! God, do something!"   
  
Faith stopped CPR for a moment and felt for a pulse. It was weak and slowing quickly. "Marty! Hang on, okay? You hear me? Help is on the way." She brushed his dark hair off his forehead, leaving an ugly, bloody streak across his face. "Just hold on..."  
  
"Where the hell is that bus?" Bosco yelled as he lifted his head to look around. People now milled around them, their eyes wide at the show, wanting to avert but their morbid curiosity forcing them to stand and stare. "Get away, give us some room!" Bosco yelled at them.  
  
Nash's body jerked, a last effort to regain control as his system slowly shut down. Bosco felt sick to his stomach as he moved one hand to his shoulder radio. It was soaked in blood. "We need a rush on that bus, dammit! Officer down!"  
  
Faith breathed again and again, forcing vital air into Marty's empty lungs. "Bosco, start compressions. I lost his pulse," she directed between breaths. Nash's partner ran back up, his trembling hands clutching a T-shirt. "Thompson, take that and put pressure on the wound!"  
  
"Oh, God..." Bosco moaned as he removed his bloodied hands from Nash's chest wound. Thompson immediately pushed the shirt against it, tears running down his young face.   
  
"One, two, three, four, five..."Bosco counted softly as he pressed his hands forcefully against Marty's sternum.   
  
The shrieking sirens in the distance grew closer and closer as the three officers worked feverishly on their fallen comrade. Faith, her head bent over Marty, heard the sound of the ambulance doors pop open and then slam shut with urgency.   
  
"Hurry!" she called over her shoulder at the approaching footsteps.  
  
"Okay guys, back off and give us some room. We got it." Faith recognized Doc's soft voice as she felt his gentle hands pull her away. Carlos pulled an oxygen mask out of a bag and placed it over Nash's mouth and nose. Doc quickly checked his vials. "No pulse, lets get him out of here now!"  
  
Time moved too swiftly as they loaded Nash's limp body into the ambulance and sped off, leaving the three officers standing stunned around a large pool of blood.   
  
**********  
  
  
  
Bosco sat in the ER waiting room, for the second time that week, watching young Thompson as Faith consoled him. The poor kid was scared half to death, his cocky manner gone and replaced by trembling hands and a shaky voice. He reminded him a lot of Gusler when he'd had his first real taste of action. Scared and upset, just a kid wanting to go home and forget about what he'd seen.  
  
The thought of Gusler made him fell sick all over again. He took a few deep breaths to rid himself of the awful, sourness churning inside. Everything inside of him screamed to be sick, to purge his body of the bad feeling, but he forced himself instead to concentrate on filling his lungs and emptying his mind of the triggering thoughts.  
  
All too soon a doctor entered the room, his scrubs splattered with drying blood. No, Bosco thought, he's back too soon. Something's wrong...  
  
The doctor licked his lips, starting his sentence with the two most dreaded words, "I'm sorry..."  
  
Bosco brain barely registered the rest of his monologue. "We tried everything we could, but he had lost too much blood. His injuries were too severe. I'm sorry."  
  
He saw Faith bite her lower lip, something she only did when she was struggling to be strong, struggling not to cry. Thompson lowered his head into his shaking hands and rocked back and forth slightly.  
  
Bosco felt his stomach turning again as he looked down at his hands. There was still dried blood on them; his hasty washing hadn't taken care of it all. It was under his fingernails, between his fingers, a smudge left behind on his wrist. Marty's blood. Marty, whom he'd known for seven years, whom he'd worked with and joked with in the locker room. Marty was gone. Oh God, he was going to be sick...   
  
He nearly leapt up from his chair and ran; out the door and down the hall until he was outside, the vomit burning his throat. He could hear Faith calling him, but he kept going until he reached the icy air.   
  
He bent over a trashcan and released, retching again and again, each heave tearing into his side with agonizing vehemence. Somehow, it hurt so good.   
  
Bosco felt a hand on his back, rubbing it gently. Faith. He could hear her crying. He couldn't stop heaving, the only thing coming up now was air but he still felt so sick...  
  
After what seemed like an eternity, his stomach stopped convulsing. "Oh God..." he groaned, still bent over. He spit out the acidity in his mouth and stood, clutching his belly in pain.   
  
"You okay, Bos?" Faith asked softly, her hand still rubbing his back. She had streaky tears lines down her face and her eyes were still welled up.   
  
"Faith... His blood, so much blood... God, Faith, I couldn't stop it... I couldn't stop it..." Bosco's chest heaved as he broke down, his soft sobs catching in his throat. Faith pulled him against her and he grasped her jacket tightly as they stood there and cried together.  
  
A long time passed before either of them moved, each comforting the other in the freezing night air.   
  
"I gotta get out of here. I gotta get out of here now. I can't stand this place anymore." Bosco whispered finally, his throat stiff and sore.  
  
"Okay," she nodded. "I'll drive you home."  
  
***********  
  
He sat in his shabby apartment, his eyes glued to the television. Yes! He'd done it again… Officer Martin Nash was dead, and he gotten away with it.  
  
He closed his eyes and with great relish, remembered the scene from that afternoon in perfect detail.   
  
The sixth floor empty apartment with the window open just far enough for his extremely accurate sniper rifle to push through. The ideal spot overlooking the semi-busy intersection. The icy air as it sifted in. The loud pop of the first shot, high and wide, over the heads of a group of lost tourists. The call. "Oh please hurry! I heard a gun go off!" in a mimicked woman's voice.   
  
The police showing up less then five minutes after. He'd aimed… No wait. Another squad car. Looked like 55-David. Oh, this could be nice, he'd thought. A live audience. They'd dispersed around the intersection, no doubt clearing it so they cold go on with their miserable lives...  
  
Then came the piece de resistance, the climax. One perfect shot to Nash's back, about chest level. And BANG! He was down with Boscorelli all over him, as if he could ward off another bullet. He'd been very tempted to fill the obnoxious Boscorelli with lead right then. But no, his valiant efforts to save his friend were much more fun to watch. The other two cops had rushed over to help but he was much better at shooting to kill then they were at life saving.  
  
The end to a perfect day had been the sight of the over made-up newscaster with her 'breaking story'. Ahhh, utter perfection. But he'd top this day. Yes, when he got to use his knife, kill on a more personal level, he'd be even more pleased.   
  
Boscorelli, watch your back...  
  
**********  
  
TBC... Hey guys sorry for the delay with this chapter, busy. I made it reaaaall long to make up for it! Make my day and write me a review!!! Thankx ;) 


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Chain of Darkness  
  
Chapter Nineteen--  
  
**********  
  
A/N: Thank you all for the wonderful reviews! I'm glad you like this story :) Just want to let you know that I'm writing as fast as I can and the action is coming up very soon! Bear with me here... ;)  
  
**********  
  
Every light in his apartment shone brightly, warding off the dark shadows but helping to ease his fears only slightly. The deafening silence that enveloped him was unbearably nerve-racking.   
  
Bosco sat on his bed, his back leaning against the wooden headboard, trying to forget what had quite possibly been one of the worst days of his life. The memories were so vivid still, the sights and sounds ever-present.  
  
Watching Marty Nash die earlier had been positively traumatic, causing every fear and emotion to heighten considerably, and the burning, sour sensation of dread in his stomach to gnaw painfully away at him. The bullet that had killed Marty could have very well been meant for him. He could have died today, the fact that he didn't was pure luck.   
  
He still hadn't stopped shaking, his body stressed and strained from the last few weeks, the added trauma of the day causing his jumpy nerves to take over. Every second since the shooting he thought of Marty, how terrible the day had been. He thought of all of the blood, all of the pain he'd felt. He thought of how lucky he was... Or was he really lucky? Was it luck that the bullet hit Marty instead of him? Was he lucky that he got to live a few more days in constant fear, with relentless grief and guilt over the fact that he was miraculously spared and his friend killed? Was that really luck?   
  
The answers evaded him. He would have to live with what had happened. Right now, he almost wished that if he was indeed going to die, death would come now and take him, sparing him the added torment that every day brought.   
  
Faith had driven him home hours ago, leaving him off with a soft, "G'night, Bos," before returning to her family. She had been striving not to cry again, he could tell. Her lack of words coming from the immense doubt and foreboding that had filled the car with its heavy presence. To say anything comforting would be lying flat-out, they both knew. He took the long look she gave him as his only consolation. It was a look of understanding and pity, heartache and fear, mixed with the beautiful glimmer of devotion and care. She loved him. She cared for him. That one look was enough to almost send him once again into tears.   
  
His frame of mind changed though, after he'd watched her leave, turning back again to the terrified anxiousness that constantly haunted him. Bosco had tried hard not to panic as he'd climbed the three long flights of stairs to his apartment, each creak of the wooden slats making him startle slightly, his body and mind on sensory overload.  
  
  
  
His life had turned into something that he could have never imagined, something you only hear about happening in far-off places, something that only happens in the movies.   
  
Coming home to his empty apartment had done nothing but remind him how alone he was; how he could be murdered in cold blood and nobody would even know until he didn't show up for work the next day. The morbidity of the thought was all too realistic for him right now.   
  
Once again, he was in for a sleepless night of agony, hours of tense muscles and chronic worry. Once again, he would have to face the aching, desperate loneliness of walking into an empty apartment-with no hand to hold, no comforting arms to rest on his back and give him security   
  
His fridge-full of beer hadn't tempted him, even though his first impulse was to take the edge off with half of a six-pack. He knew his queasy stomach wouldn't allow alcohol to burn away the dread, but only make the dull ache more prominent.   
  
After a quick shower, he'd crawled into bed to try and claim a few hours of sleep, but the relentless uneasiness he suffered would not allow any such thing. Instead, he sat wide-awake on his bed, clutching his loaded off-duty gun in his shaky hands and intently listening for anything anomalous.   
  
"Good God", he whispered to himself, four long hours into his vigil. "This is no way to live. I'm scared half to death, like a little boy afraid of the boogie monster. Snap out of it, Bosco..."   
  
Unfortunately, his will to be brave and fearless didn't overpower the ensuing vulnerability that kept him awake and alert until well after dawn.  
  
**********   
  
  
  
Faith closed her eyes but she couldn't rid herself of the unbearably vivid visions that danced before her. Everything she had witnessed that day was haunting her dreams and plaguing her with horrible validity.   
  
Beside her, Fred was sound asleep. Exhaustion had caused him to long forget the acute panic he'd felt when his wife had sobbed out her day on his shoulder.   
  
The shock of another murder, this one involving his wife, had made him livid but deeply troubled at the same time. Although he wished it with all his being, he knew there was no way he could talk Faith into staying home. He unfortunately knew from past experiences, namely September Eleventh, that the NYPD stuck together in every situation. The more severe the catastrophe, the more will they had to complete their duty and show up for work the next day.   
  
Right now, Fred wanted nothing more then to take his wife up in his arms and flee from the evil that pursued her, but all he could do was comfort her and pray fervently to God every waking moment of every day for her safety.   
  
But he knew that his efforts wouldn't be enough. They would never be enough…...  
  
**********  
  
The blackness was impossibly deep, a dark a black hole. He could feel pain engulfing his entire being, but the frightening darkness made it impossible for him to understand where it was coming from. A long moment passed as he tried to focus.   
  
He could barely feel his chest rising and falling, forcing him to concentrate on the numb feeling. As long as he was still breathing, Ty figured he was alive, even if he couldn't move an inch or open his eyes.  
  
There was something in his mouth impending his speech and something else holding his eyelids closed.  
  
A sudden rush of panic seized him, and everything in him screamed for his body to move, for him to cry out, but the heavy numbness of his body wouldn't cooperate.  
  
He could hear the steady, monotonous beeping of monitors, the rhythmic whooshing of air, and the soft sound of soothing voices. The voices sounded strangely familiar but he couldn't understand them; they made no sense at all as he focused entirely on the object obstructing his airway.   
  
  
  
His body, finally beginning to fall into sync with his racing mind, allowed his reflexes to kick in and cause him to gag instinctively on the object stuck in his throat. Hot tears sprang into his eyes, still held shut by an unseen influence, and his hands ached to remove whatever was making him choke. The voices grew stronger, but he ignored the indecipherable babble and brought his hand up to get rid of what was in his mouth.   
  
Concentrating all of his efforts on the task, he pulled his right palm towards his face. A stinging sensation and a strong hand forced his searching fingers back down to the cotton fabric beneath them before they had lifted even an inch.  
  
"Ty?" He understood the voices now, someone calling his name. "Ty, it's okay. You have a tube in your throat to help you breathe."   
  
Oh, that's what it was.   
  
The mention of the tube only made him gag again and feel sick. Something was very wrong with him. What had happened? He struggled against his convulsing muscles, trying desperately to make them stop their reflexive pulsing.  
  
The crash, he thought. He had survived the crash.  
  
Or had he?  
  
A hand rested on his shoulder, warm and gentle. He could feel other hands probing him, making his aching body throb in excruciating pain. He tried to cry out, forgetting for a moment in the intense, burning pain that he couldn't speak. Again he gagged, the rough tube scraping violently against his esophagus.  
  
Please stop, he begged the hands silently, screwing up his face in anguish. Please stop...  
  
A few agonizing seconds passed before his weary body gave up fighting the pain and slipped easily back into the black hole of unconsciousness.   
  
**********  
  
  
  
Sully stood stoically by his partner's side and watched as he struggled and choked against the respirator tube. Ty was using every ounce of strength he had to fight the very thing that was keeping him alive.  
  
The doctor was probing his torso, asking him questions about the pain, but it was obvious he had no idea what was going on around him, his face contorted into a twisted grimace of agony. Sully, who's heart had leapt just a few minutes ago at the sight of his partner's first movement in days, now felt sick to his stomach as he watched him slip away yet again.  
  
"Doctor?" Sully asked quietly a moment later, his deep voice almost a whisper. He couldn't find the words to ask what his mind screamed at him. Was Ty in a coma again? Was he a…vegetable? The thought was too much to bear. Sully felt himself holding his breath as he waited for the verdict.  
  
The doctor checked the monitors and machines, wires and tubes, before exhaling deeply. "Well, I can't really say too much, Officer. It's too early. The fact that he seemed to have regained consciousness is very good, although I don't know the extent of the damage the head trauma caused. He still has swelling in his brain and right now its really touch-and-go..."  
  
"He did wake up, then?" Sully ventured hopefully. "Does that mean he's asleep now?"  
  
"Well, it appears that he did wake up, but I'm afraid that he's slipped back into an unconscious state. Perhaps a coma again, I really won't know for a while," she stated while she adjusted Ty's IV drip. "Listen, Officer, I have a few more patients I have to see, but I'll be back soon to check up on him, okay? Just call for a nurse if he wakes up again." She smiled grimly before replacing his medical chart into the holder on the door and closing it quietly behind her.  
  
Sully heaved a sigh and raked his fingers through his thick, brown hair, fighting against the sinking feelings of despair. He carefully slipped his hand once again into his partner's palm and squeezed it gently. "Ty? If you can hear me, you gotta fight this. Okay? You gotta fight..."  
  
The humming of the machines drowned out his next words; the whispered prayers, only for God to hear. "Oh, God, make him be okay. Make him okay..."  
  
**********   
  
Bosco stared blankly at the Lieutenant as he briefed them for another day on the streets. His mind was a million miles away, straining to stay awake after only thee or four hours of rest. What Lieu had to say was inconsequential now anyway. Nothing had changed since yesterday, an unknown predator still was stalking them, and from the looks of things they wouldn't be catching him anytime soon.  
  
Bosco shifted his gaze to his hands and uncurled his fingers from the fist they had been in, silently counting the murders as he chanted the deceased's names in his head. He winced as the number of still-curled fingers diminished quickly. Barry, Jacobsen, Moretti, Gusler, Nash... That made five...six, if you counted Ty -- an astronomical number. Bosco stared at his fingers and they glared back, taunting him, "You could be number seven."   
  
He uncurled another finger, adding himself to the list. His eyes widened, terrified at the sight. No...  
  
Faith's voice snapped him quickly out of his weariness-induced delusional reverie, "You ready, Bos?"  
  
"Yeah," he sighed as he quickly pushed his chair back.   
  
You're going crazy, he told himself, still frightened. Focus, Boscorelli, focus…  
  
**********  
  
TBC... Tell me what you think... Please? ;) 


	20. Chapter Twenty

Chain of Darkness

Chapter Twenty-

**********

A/N: I'm so sorry that it took me so long to write this, guys... I had a bit of writer's block and couldn't find the words. Thank you all for continuing to support me and my work, and I'm glad that you like my stories so much! Here it is, enjoy!

**********

Bosco raked his hand slowly through his hair, relishing the tingly feeling of his fingers as they glided along his scalp. It was strange, but lately he'd been so much more attentive to the small pleasures in life, as if he knew intuitively that his end was near. 

The last few days and nights had melded into one long stretch of inconsolable worrying and dread. He rarely slept at all any more; each night had become a long, drawn out span of time in which the shadows on the walls danced a terrifying dance of fear, silently threatening to unleash the designer of the current web of horror.

Faith, beside him, felt uneasy. Ever since she had awoken she'd known unconsciously that something was wrong. That something niggled at the back of her head, a strange agitation that aroused curious doubts. At first, she had been sure that overnight something had happened to her partner, but he'd shown up for work that afternoon as usual - on time no less. Her relief had been acute, though brief. She'd admonished herself for nearly panicking over nothing, and had pushed the thoughts away, trying to appear as if everything was back to 'life-as-usual'. Well, as usual as it could be in this situation.

Everything about life had changed. Even now, Faith couldn't keep her eyes from moving, roaming, searching. He was out there. He. The man with no face, no name, no personality. He, the dark. The blood. The pain. He could be anyone. The cashier at the coffee shop. The businessman in the tailored black suit. The young guy walking the Labrador down the frozen sidewalk. Lately, every man had become suspect to her eyes, each one receiving a long look and a wondering thought. Who are you? Who is this He? He had managed to consume most of her thoughts and all of her nightmares. 

Bosco watched his partner closely. His eyes, no longer playful blue, had dulled to a cloudy gray; haunting, lifeless, and lonely. The silence of the RMP was too alike to the silence of his long, frightening nights and empty apartment, and Bosco hastened to fill it. Idle chatter or not, it was breaking the eerie quiet that drove his words. 

"It's been a while since the last one," Bosco commented wanly, drawing Faith's gaze. His own eyes searched the crowded streets for answers. "Maybe he hits again today."

The raw harshness of his blunt statement was too true to ignore, and Faith sent up an umpteenth prayer for a safe shift. The bad feeling in the pit of her stomach was really starting to grow stronger, terrifying her. Something horrible was going to happen, she was sure of it. She could feel it, sense it, almost taste it - a premonition of a terrible tragedy. But, there was no reason to tell Bosco about it, he would just be pulled down into the tangled snare of fear with her.

"You think he's out there getting someone?" Bosco asked his partner, "I mean, what if he's doin' it right now? We're just sitting here... we should doin' somethin'" 

Faith felt her chest tighten and anxious worry set in yet again. "There's nothing we can do, really."

"It's just... I wish we could do somtin' instead of just sitting here wasting time. He's' out there, that son-of-a-bitch, right now. He's out there and he's watching, waitin' for one of us to be alone so he can off us."

"Bosco, please," Faith shook her head and pursed her lips, displeased with the topic of conversation. She really didn't want to think about any of it right now.

"Please what, Faith?" Bosco nearly spat, his tone increasing from contemplative to annoyed. "Please don't talk about what we've avoided for the last however long? Is that what you want? To keep pretending nothin's goin' on?" 

Bosco slumped further down into his seat, crossing his arms angrily, confused and upset. He needed to talk. There was one thing that he wanted to ask her, but the subject was too difficult to approach. 

Death. What if he was next? What if tomorrow he was dead? What would happen if he died? If she died? The mere thought of his partner's early demise made him feel ill.

He didn't want to die... but if Faith died, well, he wouldn't know how to live anymore. She was his rock, his solid foundation, his best friend. Yeah, sure, they got in fights and had been spitting mad at each other on more then one occasion, but they still stuck together. She had been a huge part his life for the last eight years. How could he ever even think of losing her? 

In that moment, that one small second in time, he made a decision. Something he had been too afraid to think about before that very instant: 

If it came down to either Faith or him dying, he would gladly sacrifice himself for her life. 

He was petrified of dying, that was the last thing he wanted, but he could never live with himself if Faith was killed. Even if the whole situation was out of his control, even if he was nowhere around when she died, he would still take it personally, as if it was his fault. That was just how it was.

Bosco frowned. He still had unanswered questions and he needed to talk. Maybe this was the last time he'd ever speak to her. The phrase "Carpe Diem" echoed through his head, prompting him to "Seize the Day". Perhaps his last chance; he didn't know. All he knew was the anger that consumed him in that moment; the anger that was hot and confused, burning with unanswered questions.

Faith could sense his fear underlying the exasperation in his words and she glared him in the eye, daring him to go on with what she thought he wanted to say. He just needed to vent.

"Faith, what if I'm next?" he continued angrily, "What if I die? Should we talk about it then?"

There, he'd said it. He felt a rush of relief at finally being able to spit out his greatest fear, but it was only momentary. The look on Faith's face brought back everything that had torn him apart. 

She was stunned, not because of what he'd said, but because he had said it. The horrific reality of their plight seemed to fill the RMP, surrounding them with an intense sense of dismay. 

Faith couldn't answer him, she just couldn't. His simple question had aroused more feeling and emotion then she'd ever felt at one time. His words were biting, eating away at her. She felt sick. Bosco had never talked about death before, she had assumed that he thought of himself invincible, or at least too macho to admit his fears.

Faith looked from her downward gaze to find him staring intently at her, his big, beautiful eyes burning a hole right into her. They swam, cloudy and gray-blue, a window into his soul.

Seconds, maybe minutes passed and neither one of them spoke. Faith, mesmerized by his insecurities and the raw emotion that she saw in his eyes, and Bosco needing for her to comfort him, to help him win his battle over the fear that raged inside him.

"Faith?" Bosco finally spoke, never breaking eye contact. His voice was slightly above a whisper, pleading with her to find him something to hang his hope on. "Oh, God, Faith, I'm scared half to death." 

Faith could see him, strained and stressed, exhausted and defeated; the same Bosco she knew and loved, but no longer with his self-constructed, hard exterior for him to hide behind. He had dropped it entirely, exposing every unseen side of himself to her mercy. He looked like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. 

Faith hesitated to speak, seeing his vulnerability and not wanting to break him with the wrong words. Her own mental heath teetered as her emotions whirled inside her furiously. She wanted to cry and curl up in a corner away from it all, but most of all she wanted to comfort her partner.

"Bosco, it's okay... it's okay to be afraid," she managed to get out, her heart pulsing with emotion.

Bosco shook his head. Not because he didn't trust her, he just didn't believe her. It wasn't okay. He wasn't just scared, he was drowning in fear. It was filling him to the breaking point, a heavy, crushing force of hysteria. It was wrong. 

"What if I die?" he asked, sucking in his breath sharply, suprised at his own words. "I don't want to die... I don't want to die like Marty. I don't want to die without any warning. I don't want to die, Faith..." 

Faith sat silently, stunned and heartbroken, on the verge of tears. 

"Faith?" he whispered again, pleading with her. She could almost see his heart sinking at her silence. He needed answers she couldn't give. He needed reassurance that wasn't available. 

"Bos, I don't know.... I don't know what to say. I can't say..." she stopped herself, trailing off the remainder of the sentence, choosing not to finish it with "you won't die". He didn't need to hear that. 

_I can't say you wont die?!_ her mind screamed back at her, shocking herself. The words that she had just about spoken were, by far, the most sickeningly horrific words she'd ever even thought. When had their lives come to this? When had she become so numb?

_Please_, his eyes begged again, searching for something to give him hope, anything. 

Faith shut her eyes, slowly collecting her frenzied thoughts. A long moment later she opened them, knowing full well what she was going to say - what she could say. "Bosco, no matter what happens, you know I'm always here for you. I'll always be here."

He nodded, ducking his head like a little boy. What if she died? How did she feel about the matter...? Here he was, drawing every ounce of her reassurance without even thinking of how she might be feeling. He was thoroughly ashamed of his inconsideration towards her.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, tears welling up in his eyes.

"For what?" Faith was confused. What was he sorry for? She was sorry. Sorry that they even had to have this conversation. It wasn't natural. 

Bosco drew a shaky breath, inhaling the oxygen as if it were his last. "I'm sorry, Faith. I was only thinkin' of my own self. I still am... I don't know what I would do if..." He paused, dreading the words he had to say. "If you died. What would I do? God, what would I do?"

Faith let out a soft sob; she didn't know that she meant so much to him. "Oh, Bos..." She grasped his hand up tightly in hers and he squeezed back. "Everything will be okay..." she assured, lying not only to comfort her partner, but herself as well.

"Faith? I want you to know that if something happens to me... you're my best friend. I always loved workin' with you, no matter what an ass I've been... I just wanted you ta know that."

"Okay," she nodded, the impending tears and the sobs catching in her throat not letting her speak anymore.

**********

Matt tugged on his tie, loosening it considerably away from his collar. "You know what I was thinking last night?" 

Sam shook his head, "No, enlighten me."

"Maybe we are going about this investigation the wrong way."

"Oh, really?" Sam replied sarcastically. "Well, by all means, give us another angle! Because the way we are going now we're two steps short of an investigational suicide."

Matt shot him a look, annoyed at his sarcastic remark. The amount of time and effort they had put into this case was astronomical, and he didn't feel like making cracks at the fact that it had all been for nothing. 

He sighed and raked his fingers through his thick hair, pulling back his thoughts as he started again, "See, I was thinking last night. We've been looking for the killer by the mistakes he's made. I was just thinking maybe we should get inside his head a bit, do a little role-playing... you know what I mean?"

Sam studied his partner, watching his dark, intense eyes. His young friend was so insightful and passionate about this case that it was scary. Unfortunately, their adversary's mind was of equal or grater caliber, hindering any forward motions in the case. Everything always turned up as a dead end. 

"Yeah," Sam sighed, "maybe we could do a little role-playing, but where would that get us?"

"I don't know, I just have a hunch," Matt stated blankly. His mind whirled with thoughts, all jumbled up and confused, but he knew they would all come together. The pieces of these fragmented clues just needed the right base. The right piece of evidence could make or break this case and he was on a mission to find it. "Tell you what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna sit here and review all of what we have and I'm not moving until I find what we've been looking for. I know it's here... I just need to find it..." he trailed off, moving towards the stack of folders on the desk before him. 

Sam smiled slightly, amused and proud of his partner's zeal and fervor. They would do this. They would crack this case if it was the last thing he did... "Sounds like a plan, Matt," he said, grabbing the top folder. "Count me in."

**********

Sully sat to the right of the cold hospital bed, watching his partner's chest rise and fall with each breath. He didn't know why he was still here; the doctors had said that it could be days before he regained consciousness. "Go home," they had said, shaking their heads his insistence, as if his staying would be in vain. Perhaps it was the guilt that drove him to stay, camped by Ty's bedside in sort of a culpable trance, waiting. The hours had crawled by, each second taking a small eternity to tick by.

Sully had long since given up on sleep; his dreams had quickly spawned into nightmares and taken away all desire to succumb to slumber. Sleep not only felt wrong somehow, but even if he did nod off, he would get not ten minutes of rest before he'd hear it: Ty's voice screaming for help. 

At first he wouldn't be sure of it, then he hear his own name being called over and over. He'd move to help, to find his young partner, but the darkness would hold him tightly in a death-grip. Louder and louder Ty would scream, his cries becoming shrill in agony and despair, but Sully couldn't move. He couldn't do a thing to help his friend, and it nearly killed him. He would wake then, his heart beating crazily and in a cold sweat, unconscious tears streaming down his face.

So he sat, afraid to be asleep and afraid to be awake, dreading the next visit of the doctor or the frantic beeping of monitors ringing in bad news. 

The soft swish of the ventilator was his only companion, the monotonous beeping of the heart monitor his consolation. As long as he had those two sounds he was okay, the sounds bringing both assurance that Ty was still alive, but the gravity of his predicament as well. I was the soft assurance that kept him sane.

"God, please," he whispered for the hundredth time that hour, pausing to beg the Almighty to grant him his one and only prayer. "Please..."

**********

"The pen is mightier than the sword, they say," he quoted under his breath. He smiled slightly as he stroked the blade through his fingers, relishing the cold steel against his flesh. "Well, they're wrong... my sword will always be mightier."

He slipped the knife back into its sheath, taking great pleasure at the soft swish it made when put away. "Soon, my pretty, soon."

The hour was near. The hour in which retribution would be taken in an act so perfectly painful that even he shivered at the thought. It would have to be that way. If it weren't, it just wouldn't be right. Recompense would be given to one of those that took his joy away. 

The hour was near. 

**********

TBC... We're getting there, people! Hang on tight...


	21. Chapter TwentyOne

Chain of Darkness

Chapter Twenty-One--

A/N: Okay, and now we get to the good stuff. (Drumroll please...) Thanks for bearing with me everyone! I appreciate your wonderful reviews more than you'll ever know!

**********

Someone had driven a stake through his temples, Ty thought as he struggled to open his eyes. And if pain was any indication, that someone had done the same thing to his back, his chest, and both of his legs.

What the hell had happened? Had he gotten in a fight with someone? Had he been in a car accident? Had he been shot?

The tape that before had held his eyes shut had been removed, and as soon as he attempted to open them, he was assaulted by a cruel, blaring light that forced him to close them once again. 

His other senses began to kick in and he detected the strong smell of antiseptic and alcohol, a monotonous yet soft beeping, and the hum of electrical machinery. Confused and beginning to panic, he let his eyes open again, this time only a small slit. Blinking and forcing them to even more, he struggled to focus on the bland wall that was before him. 

Ugly. And what made it even uglier was the hotel-room looking painting that was hung slightly off-center. Someone should shoot that artist and the person that had even bothered to hang it. 

The painting was a stupid thing to let his thoughts linger on, though. It was just that his brain was all fuzzy and foggy, and concentration on inanimate objects felt right. Well, maybe. He wasn't sure.

It didn't hold his attention for much longer and he let his eyes wander around a bit. A lot of impressive machinery sat beside him, beeping softly and buzzing. 

Yes, he thought, his brain still in a haze. He'd been in a car crash. But it wasn't an accedent. No, that wasn't right. The car had crashed _into_ him. 

Catching his breath as the horror of that night came slamming back, he tried to sit up, but something or someone held him down. The stabbing pain that ricocheted through his back and down his legs warned him not to try again.

His throat felt like he'd swallowed a bucket of sand. He needed a drink, he thought desperately. He needed a drug. He needed to die.

"He's coming to!" an annoying voice announced.

He rolled his eyes towards the sound and saw a pale, fat nurse hovering over his bed and a man with a stethoscope beside her. Someone else was standing up by his head, but he could only see a shadow. _Must be mom. _

"Ty, can you hear me?" the man asked in a voice so loud that it nearly shattered his eardrums, echoing madly through his head. "Ty, you're in the hospital."

_No kidding_, he thought, but when he tried to speak, that damn tube from before made him gag. Not this again...

"Ty, you have a tube in your throat to help you breathe," that fat nurse said all soft and gentle. Her voice wasn't like the thunderous, painful one of the doctor's and he felt like hugging her. "We can take it out now if you like."

He nodded his head ever so slightly, struggling not to gag again. The tube had other plans and scratched the entire length of his dry throat painfully. His best efforts to restrain his reflexes just made it worse, and he gagged again violently. _ Oh, God, please..._

"Okay, just a minute now, " the nurse prattled on, patting his shoulder as she removed some sort of tape from his face. Her touch was gentle, but it still felt like she was trying to rip his cheeks off. "When I tell you to, you need 'ta cough, okay?"

Ty closed his eyes again as pain-induced tears ran down his face. Why me? he wanted to scream. Why did this happen to him? 

"Is he okay?" another voice whispered urgently. It was a man's voice, deep and scratchy, almost melodic. He knew that voice... Sully? 

"Just a sec," answered the obnoxiously loud doctor. "Okay, Ty - start to cough now."

Ty didn't need a second invitation when every reflex and natural instinct in his body screamed for him to do just that. His chest heaved and gagged against the tube as it was roughly pulled from deep inside of him. 

If he'd ever felt like death was a better option then life before, he had had no idea how much worse life could get. The next few seconds were pure hell, every fiber of his body white hot in intense pain as he struggled to catch his breath.

Hands rubbed his shoulders comfortingly while he choked and sputtered, his airway finally clear of the tube, but almost unsure of how to breathe on it's own. Dammit... Ty thought to himself as his cough-racked body started to settle and the impulses to gag and choke starting to subside.

For a long moment the room was silent, and his breathing fell into a rhythmic pace, steady and slow. Ty could hear the scratching of pen on paper and assumed the doctor was scrawling out a record of his latest feat. His brain was alive now with unanswered questions, burning with curiously. "How long?" he managed in a raspy whisper. 

"Since the crash?" the doctor asked. "Almost three days now. How do you feel?"

Dumb question. _How the hell would you feel if you were run over? _ Ty wanted to ask him. His head was pounding relentlessly, the pain felt like someone was beating his head with a bat with each throb. Any hangover that he'd ever had was a mere annoyance compared to this. "My head..." he whispered.

The doctor chuckled softly, irritating Ty even further. "I would imagine that, you had quite a concussion."

Ty opened his eyes again and glared at him. The older man scribbled something else on his notepad and smiled reassuringly, "Where else do you have pain?"

Again, dumb question. Ty ignored him, instead clearing his throat and licking his lips in an effort to make his voice sound relatively normal. "Sul?"

The shadow by his head moved in and he recognized the bulk as his partner. Sully squeezed his shoulder, his face bearing that same guilty look he'd had the last time Ty was in the hospital. "I'm here, Ty," he murmured. 

Ty stared up at him, trying to decide what the hell he should feel guilty about. The crash couldn't have possibly been his fault... What was it? 

He felt himself fading and his eyelids drooped as his weary body fell back towards the warm sleep that was tugging at him. "Tired..." he managed to mumble before his eyes closed entirely, succumbing to the urges. 

A few seconds passed of comfortable darkness before he remembered. The events of that night came back, whispering softly in his ear the reason that his partner looked so guilty, the reason he was standing there with that look on his face.

Sully had been drunk. He'd gone out late to pick him up. It was his partner's fault that he was out that night. 

Shit.

**********

Matt pulled on an extra pair of gloves, not particularly thrilled with the idea of venturing out into the bitter night air. He had a job to do though, and the idea he'd come up with, teamed with his insatiable curiosity, wouldn't allow him another second to wait around in the warmth.

He pushed the door open, ushering in a blast of semi-artic air. The cold nipped at his exposed cheeks and nose, but he plodded onward, excited and nervous at the same time. This could be it... But what if he was wrong? What if this was yet another dead-end? 

He shook his head, dispersing the pessimistic thoughts, instead concentrating on trudging thorough the snow to his destination: the warehouse at the far-end of the lot.

The handle of the metal door was cold enough to be felt though two pairs of gloves, and he hurriedly inserted his key, anxious to get inside and see if his theory was correct.

Inside, he wove around the various pieces of evidence noting the many boxes of unusable data. They didn't hold his interest and he kept walking until he spotted what he'd come for: the gray Geo Metro.

The old car, nearly smashed into half its size, sat parked at a funny angle, tagged and inspected - waiting for him. He smiled apprehensively and walked around it, trying to figure out the best way to get at the front seat. 

"Okay, car, work with me here," he murmured to the cold piece of scrap metal that could possibly hold the break in the case. "Give me something, baby..." 

Standing to the side, he crossed his fingers superstitiously and sent up a silent prayer to God. _Please..._

For the next few seconds a hush fell over the warehouse and it was perfectly silent, as if holding it's breath with Matt as he fetched what he was searching for. 

Then came the triumphant shout, "Yes!" 

**********

Bosco sat on the cold bench, still fully dressed in his uniform, his elbows resting on his knees and hands locked tightly together in front of him. The locker room was conspicuously silent, as most of the others had already come and gone for the night. Faith had gone upstairs to check their radios back in and grab a coffee, but he'd opted instead to stay downstairs. 

He sat for a long moment, his mind whirling brooding thoughts, trying not to think about his return home to the dark lonely apartment that awaited him. Another long night of sleepless misery was in store, and he was definitely not looking forward to it. Faith, on the other hand, had at least a family and husband to keep her company. Lucky. More than once he'd been tempted to crash at his mother's place, but the thought of anything happening to her because of him warned him not to even entertain the consideration. 

"What are you still doing here, Boscorelli?" snarled a familiar voice. 

Bosco didn't bother to look up as Sergeant Christopher sauntered in, his arms crossed and a rather smug look spread across his face. "Hmmm?" he prodded again, moving to stand before Bosco.

Bosco glared him in the eye, but his resolve was weak after the last weeks of torment. He didn't answer, instead choosing to shift his gaze to the floor.

"Oh, com'on, Boscorelli, all of the others from the shift are gone. Why are you still here? Too scared to go home? Afraid of the dark, perhaps?" 

Bosco flinched slightly. Christopher had touched a nerve. He was indeed afraid of the dark, but the nasty Sergeant had no idea of how badly. He closed his eyes, silently begging Christopher to leave him be, and again, refused to acknowledge his superior.

"Awww, it's okay. The boogie monster already went home for the night. It's safe now," Christopher chuckled meanly. "If you want, I could come home with you and check under your bed." 

Bosco felt his temper started to flare and he squeeze his clenched hands together until his knuckles turned white, "Just shut the hell up," he snapped, feeling the familiar warmth of anger rush over him. Son-of-a-bitch. How dare him... 

A head peered in from the doorway, "Sergeant, Swersky wants to see you."

Christopher nodded at the messenger and turned his attention to Bosco again, "Hey, Boscorelli. Don't let the bedbugs bite..." he snarled, smirking arrogantly.

Bosco watched him leave, flushed and seething, the knots in his stomach twisting painfully. Christopher's comments had brought back every realization full force, leaving him livid and horrified and scared half to death all at once.

********** 

It was quiet. Deathly quiet. 

He smiled at the common cliché, and how perfectly relevant it was right then. He slunk further down, huddled into the tightest, smallest position that his frame could manage. His hiding place was good - a dark corner where no light would touch. The heavy weight from the knife at his side tugged at his belt and provided a constant reminder of how the next few hours would play out.

He closed his eyes, pausing to imagine how the kill would go as he waited. It didn't matter how many hours would have to pass before it happened.

For this, he would wait forever... 

**********

Faith heard Bosco sigh as he pulled his sweatshirt over his head, as if enjoying the warmth that the hoodie provided. She was dressing back into her civvies as well, her back to him as she messed with the zipper on her coat. 

The conversation that they had had earlier that day was echoing through her head, reminding her of the gravity their situation and also how frightened her partner was. His words had been harsh from the raw emotion that had spawned from weeks of constant wear and tare, each "event" literally shredding another part of his emotions until he had nothing but tattered bits left. 

"Oh, God, Faith," he had choked out, "I'm scared half to death." 

The look in his eyes was one of pure defeat and terror. As long as she lived, she would never forget that moment. She had seen a side of him that was of innermost depth: a man trying to desperately cling to whatever hope he could. Even now just thinking of it made her feel sick.

The foreboding feelings of that morning had intensified until they raged inside her and tore at her, threatening menace. Something was wrong. Something terrible would happen. 

"Faith, can I catch a ride with you?" Bosco asked, startling her out of her tumultuous thoughts. She expected this question-he'd asked every night for the last week, obviously too frightened to return home alone. She always agreed, pretending not to notice the fear-laced query, glad for the company as well. Driving alone in the dark was never fun, and the stalking serial killer made it almost unbearable.

"Sure," she smiled at him as she tugged on her gloves. "No problem."

She watched her partner intriguingly as he straightened to stand and rubbed his face with his hands. God, he looked really bad. No, that was far too weak a statement - he looked terrible. "You ready?" she asked, peeling her eyes away from his weary face.

"Yeah, Faith, let's get outta here." 

**********

Matt ran in a near-sprint through the parking lot. He'd found it - the right clue, the right piece of evidence. He reached the front of the station and jogged up the steps, nearly bursting with elation. 

This was it. In his hand he held the killer's fatal mistake. A small one at that, but the consequences would be huge, potentially devastating for the one who had carelessly left it. 

He flung the doors open and raced through the halls, up the stairs and into his and Sam's office. His partner sat at the desk, needlessly going over the useless stacks of data that they had collected so far, a pen behind his ear and a concentrated look across his face. 

"Sam!" Matt exclaimed, smiling broadly as he held op the incriminating piece of evidence. "I've got it!"

The surprised look on Sam's face was priceless.

***********

The snow crunched softly under the tires as Faith pulled the car up to the curb. Bosco warily peered out the window, eyeing his dark apartment. Oh, God, he didn't want to go up there...

He sighed and pushed his skullcap further onto his head, stalling as long as possible, and moved to arrange the zipper on his coat. If Faith noticed his hesitation and purposeful delay of the inevitable, she didn't say anything. She only smiled weakly at him in an attempt to make him feel better, he assumed. Her vain attempt to comfort him only made him feel nauseous. 

"So..." she spoke softy, "I'll see you tomorrow then..."

It was more of a statement then a question, as if she was reassuring him that he would indeed be at work the following day. Nice try. He did appreciate the effort, though. Something about tonight made him sick with worry, and nothing she could ever say or do would be able to erase the alarmingly fast-growing sense of panic that burned away at his stomach.

"Yeah," he answered lamely, his voice dropping to a whisper, skillfully disguising the unevenness of his tone. He was about to lose it. "Tomorrow." 

"Okay, then."

Bosco took this as his cue to leave and slowly opened the door and exited the car; dread welling up in the back of his throat. He leaned in once more, pausing to say farewell, suddenly having a strong feeling that this would be his last time. "Night, Faith."

"Night," she repeated, looking him right in the eye, her blue eyes searing and pure. "Be safe."

Those three simple words were unfortunately incredibly poignant and far too realistic to be taken lightly, and they only intensified the panic that was making his heart race. 

"Right. You too," he murmured before he closed the door.

He stood on the sidewalk and watched her drive away, hands stuff deep in his pockets, struggling not to cry. He didn't know why, but was sure that he would never see her again.

**********

"Oh my God, Matt!" Sam exclaimed, his eyes wide with shock and pleasure. How the hell had his young partner done it? "That's it, pal. We nailed him!"

Matt grinned, his smile spread from ear to ear. He couldn't even explain how relieved and thrilled he was feeling right now - nothing in his life had ever felt so fulfilling, so perfectly right. He had done it, had cracked an impossible case... No, wait. _They_ had done it. He could have never done it without Sam's insightful wisdom and perseverance.

Sam shook his head in wonderment, and reached for the bag containing the evidence: the small strip of tape bearing the fingerprints of the killer. "How the hell did get these? How did you know where to look? Where did you find this?" he wondered to Matt, his hands shaking with excitement.

"I did a little detective work, my friend," Matt drawled, his face still lit with his infectious grin. "Let me ask you a question... What's the first thing you do when you get into a car? You buckle up, right?" 

"Right, but we know that the guy wiped down the entire car, steering wheel, seatbelt buckle, dashboard... everything. Where the hell did you get these prints?"

"There's one other thing that you always do..." he paused, grabbing a large bag from deep within his coat pocket. He laid it on the table before them, nearly laughing at the look of shock on the face of his partner as he stared at the source of the incriminating fingerprints. 

Sam gasped, stunned. He had never thought of this... "Holy shit!"

"Yep, the son-of-a-bitch screwed himself royally, huh? Never thought anything of it when he reached up and adjusted that mirror, did he?" Matt mocked in glee, fingering the bag that held the rearview mirror that had held the long sought-after prints. 

"Again, Matt - how the hell did you know?" 

"Ah, that came from backtracking and role-playing. I sat in my car just a while ago to get a feel for what he'd been doing that night, and automatically reached to fix the mirror. Viola! Prints!" 

"Son-of-a-bitch..." Sam murmured in awe. He still couldn't believe that it had come down to this; this cold piece of metal that the CSI had disregarded easily, had completely overlooked. It took an inanely smart and dedicated young man like his partner to find what they'd needed. He felt like crying. 

"We win, Sam...we win!" Matt whispered, his own eyes threatening tears of pure relief and delight. 

********** 

He waited, still crouched inconspicuously from sight, but now with an edgy gleam in his eye and a small smile on his lips.

This was the night; the night in which all would be made right - the night that he would finally enact his revenge...

The cold, steel blade he gripped had warmed from his nervous energy. His knees ached from remaining bent for so long, but he wasn't even aware of the niggling pain, the tingling of lost circulation. He was intently focused on the future, what the next small fragment in time would bring. 

**********

Bosco fished his apartment key from his back pocket, his fingers curling around the small object and quickly yanking it out. The hall outside his door was dark and foreboding, very much like the hall outside of Gusler's place...

He winced at the harsh recollection. Why the hell did he always think of these things? He always remembered all of bad stuff relative to whatever situation he was in. Damn...

He inserted the key into the deadbolt and was satisfied when he heard it click open. Nobody was in his apartment, or at least that's what the bolt told him. Again he inserted the key, this time into the regular lock. It popped softly, giving him another small bit of relief. Not much, but enough to let him relax slightly from the uptight rigidly of every muscle.

He pushed the door open quietly and slipped inside to the nearly dark apartment. He always left one light on at all times to provide him reprieve from his fear of the dark, and tonight the dim kitchen light welcomed him. 

Bosco relaxed even more - content that his apartment was safe - and turned to lock up again, checking each lock twice before moving from the door. Slipping his feet out of his shoes, he padded softly into the living room to switch on more lights, hoping that the illumination of the place might ease his agitation further.

He never noticed the dark shadow that slunk from its hiding spot, creeping closer and closer until it was directly behind him. 

The shadow reared to its full height, revealing a man's sulking form, hand raised above its head, brandishing a deadly weapon malevolently. 

********** 

TBC... 


	22. Chapter TwentyTwo

Chain of Darkness

Chapter Twenty-Two--

A/N: Warning: Contains violent material.

**********

His hand came down swiftly, shaking fingers gripping his knife in a death-grip. The knife resisted slightly as it encountered soft flesh, but he drove it home, forcing it down further and further until the entire blade was buried deeply.

_Recompense_.

Immediately, his free hand snaked around his victim's neck and covered the screaming mouth, stifling the shrieking cries until they were only muffled sobs. The officer that he held struggled violently - nearly causing him to lose his grip - but he held fast, forcing more and more pressure. Again and again he pushed the knife blade violently, stabbing it in so deeply that he could feel a section of the handle disappear.

_Satisfaction_. 

With every thrust of the knife he felt the man weaken, stumbling first to his knees, then a few seconds later to his hands, shaking and sobbing crazily all the while. He half-smiled, falling down with his victim as he struggled to free himself from the merciless grasp. Warm, wet blood flowed easily out of the wound and down his arm, dripping silently from his bent elbow. The tickling, trickling feeling made his emotions swell, heightening with pleasure. He pushed himself up towards the panicked face, breathing heavily as he anticipated the first words that would be spoken.

_Retribution_. 

Licking his dry lips, he craned his neck to get a better view of the face - Boscorelli's face. It was better then he'd ever imagined, twisted into a painful grimace of agony, his mouth working against his captors hand, silently begging for reprieve. 

"You thought that locks could keep me out?" he whispered hoarsely into his ear, tightening his grip on the blade until his knuckles burned from pressure. He chuckled at the way Boscorelli choked against his hand, struggling to get air enough. He leaned his full body weight against the knife handle, insanely delighted when he felt it bury even deeper and grind against bone. 

_Perfection_.

**********

Doc scribbled in the last column in the logbook, cringing when he saw the open slot for the next shift. Kim and Alex were supposed to have picked it up, but both had canceled about an hour ago due to some bug that they'd caught. 

Dammit. He and Carlos would have to pull a double.

Loud footsteps hurried down the stairs, ushering in Carlos who was already changed back into his civvies, and judging by the wide grin on his face, obviously on his way home. _Dammit_. The poor kid had worked a double the night before last and was exhausted. Doc didn't feel like breaking the bad news to him, remembering the grateful comments his young partner had uttered all night about how glad he was that he was nearly done and on his way to bed.

"Hasta la vista, baby. I'm so outta here!" Carlos exclaimed excitedly as he rounded the corner.

Doc sighed and cleared his throat, "Uh, wait up a sec."

Carlos stopped mid-step, a confused expression on his tired face. "What?"

"Uh, Kim and Alex, they can't come in - got the flu or somthin'... So, we have to fill in for the next shift."

Carlos just blinked and stared at him like he'd grown another head.

"I, uh, I need you to stay on for a double tonight," Doc reiterated, in case he hadn't been clear enough. 

"You have got to be shitting me!" his partner nearly shouted in disgust. "You're kidding, right? Say you're kidding."

"Nope, sorry."

Carlos groaned loudly as he dramatically rolled his eyes and slouched against the wall. He slid down slowly until he was sitting on the floor with his head buried in his hands. "Nooooo...." 

"Com'on, it's not that bad," Doc scoffed at his melodrama. Carlos could be so... annoyingly dramatic. "Besides, you won't be yelling when the check comes in."

His partner looked up from his haphazard position on the floor, glaring him right in the eye. "Fine," he muttered, then buried his head in his hands again. "Why do I do this to myself...?" he groaned miserably. "I need sleep!"

"Hey, listen," Doc chided, slightly exasperated. "Maybe we do something good tonight for someone - save someone's life maybe. Isn't that worth a few hours of sleep?"

***********

Matt stood to the side of the door, his arms crossed anxiously. The CSI lab was processing the fingerprints at that moment, and the wait was making him so nervous that he felt sick. Well, it also could have been the fact that he hadn't slept in over 48 hours, and his diet of late consisted almost entirely of coffee. Jittery could hardly describe the way he was feeling now. The lack of sleep and caffeine rushes didn't help either. 

Sam waited nearby, leaning against the wall, his head back, eyes closed. If one could have heard his thoughts at that moment, they would have heard only the humble but fervent prayers of a man desperate to find answers. He needed this to be the break. He didn't know how much longer he could last, toiling night and day as he and his partner searched for the elusive killer. How young Matt had so much energy and fervor, he had no idea.

Footsteps could be heard through the thin door, echoing louder as they grew near. Matt raked his trembling hands through his hair nervously, hardly containing himself. Not ten minutes before, he'd thought back, remembering all of the horrific crime scenes, the piles of unusable evidence, the scads of hours wasted... 

If this wasn't it... If this wasn't the end... He didn't want to even think of it.

The door pushed open softly, revealing a young tech in a white lab coat. His eyes betrayed the solemn expression that was evenly spread across his face, gleaming with a speak that could possibly mean...?

"Well?" Sam spoke first, his voice tight. 

The tech pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. Matt felt his heart drop. _Shit, no. God, please...please..._

Sam held his breath, unsure of just what exactly the non-verbal communication meant. He could see that his young partner, a bit green and not entirely accustomed to reading people, had already taken the shake of head as a negative and his shoulders slouched in defeat. 

Still shaking his head, the young tech broke into a toothy grin and chuckled, "You two... God, you two are a piece of work!" he exclaimed, holding up the file containing the test results and waving the triumphantly. "Son-of-a-bitch! I... I can't believe these fingerprints! Where the hell did you find these? They're perfect, just perfect, guys. I'm amazed."

Matt let out a happy shout, throwing his arms around his partner, "Hot damn!"

"Thank God," Sam breathed, his eyes rolling heavenward. "Oh, thank you, God..."

***********

Bosco heard the soft swish of something cutting swiftly through air - slight as it was - and his head moved to look. He had barely time to blink before he figured out what the swish had meant, and a stabbing pain shot though his side like fire.

_What the...? Oh, God, no..._

His first inclination was to grab at the pain, and he did, but his fingers encountered a sharp blade and he withdrew them quickly, staring at the blood that covered his hand. 

_That was a knife_, his brain registered. Stabbed - someone was stabbing him. He groaned out a sobbing cry, but a strong arm wrapped around his face to smother the noise. 

The looming, heavy shadow of a man tightened his grip on Bosco, squeezing harshly until his grasp was insured. He felt the sharpness dig further and further into his body and the burning in his side intensified with every thrust from his aggressor, bringing on hot tears of pain and muffled screams of agony. _God, please..._

Bosco felt warm fluid running down his side and dripping quickly to the floor beside him. Blood. Wet, sticky blood. The realization made his stomach turn painfully and bile rise in his throat. He choked against it, fighting to get sufficient air into his burning lungs. 

He had found him. This was it. It was over...

Over and over again he tried to free himself from the tight grasp, but he felt himself losing strength fast and tumbled to his knees, still gasping and struggling feverishly. _Help me please..._ his mind screamed what his smothered cries couldn't.

The man fell easily with him, never loosening his hold, never removing the blade. His entire body was trembling violently from the severe pain, and he couldn't stop the sobs of agony and terror that came from deep within. Bosco forced his clenched eyes open, struggling not to pass out from the unbearable pain. _Please..._

His weakening body had other plans though, and he fell again to his hands and knees. His eyes widened as his hands hit the ground, barely missing the syrupy pool of blood that had already formed on the hardwood floor. _God, no..._

Bosco felt the man move up towards his head and push his face into the crook of his neck. "You thought that locks could keep me out?" he whispered in his ear, a deep, hoarse growl. 

_Oh, sick..._ Bosco felt the urge to throw up burn the back of his throat, and he coughed and choked against the gloved hand that prevented air. His stomach turned and twisted, the pain and horror threatening to make him pass out or vomit. 

_God, please help me...please..._

The man loosened his grip slightly and shifted his weight, letting off some of the pressure as a throaty chuckle emitted around the room. He was laughing. God, he was laughing...

Suddenly the man came down, leaning his full weight against the handle of the knife, forcing the blade in harshly. Bosco screamed out as a white-hot flash of excruciating pain blinded him and he felt and heard the sickening grind of metal against bone.

He nearly passed out then, collapsing completely. His head connected oddly with the floor, sending another spasm of pain flying down his neck. He groaned loudly against the hand, choking out another muffled sob. 

This only made the killer angry and he brutally yanked him upright. "Get up, you pig," he growled, pulling Bosco to his feet again. The fire in his side was red hot and throbbing now, but his mental anguish was the thing that was making him feel so sick. Every fear that had tormented him over the past few weeks had come true, but even worse then he'd ever imagined. The pain was excruciating, horrible - too much. He couldn't handle it... _Please, someone help me..._

The man hauled him roughly across the room, dragging him into the small bathroom across the hall. Bosco, delirious with pain, let himself be led, forcing his lead-filled feet across the floor as he struggled not to lose consciousness. Only after the man let him drop again to the cold, tile floor, did Bosco realize the reason for the sudden move. The bathroom was the furthest room from the door, the furthest place away from the wall adjoining his apartment to his neighbor's. 

Even if he made noise now, he'd never be heard.

***********

Faith shifted into 'park', settling back in her seat somewhat as she struggled to unwind and relax. Today was different - there was more anxiety, more presentiments, and more tension. The fact remained that she was in danger, but her worry and vexation didn't generate from concern for herself, but solely for her partner's wellbeing. Even though she'd just seen him off to the safety of his apartment, she still felt wrong about it, as if she should turn back. Call it woman's intuition, call it a partner's instinct - call it what you may, but it was eating away at her. 

_Damn you, Bosco_.

She pushed a stray strand of hair from her face, sighing at the way he always was constantly on her mind. She needed to focus, set her frame of mind on her family and keeping herself safe and alive for them. 

She glanced up at the window of her bedroom. Fred would be in there now, laying haphazardly across their bed with his arm flung half-off the edge, dozing lightly as he waited for her to return home. He was so worried for her lately, pausing each morning to look her in the eye and whisper an "I love you" before blinking back tears. She hated seeing him like that - torn up about her and her job. He just didn't understand. She supposed he never would.

Gathering up her purse, she turned the engine off and extracted the key, pausing to give the car a once-over for anything she might need to take inside. Her eyes fell on the passenger seat and the battered brown leather wallet that lay dead center. 

_Damn you, Bosco_.

Her partner's wallet must have fallen out of his back pocket where he always kept it. No doubt he would need it before their shift started the following day, and she decided that a quick trip over to his place now would save her one more hassle in the morning. 

She jammed the key once more into the ignition, sighing again. Fred would have to wait.

**********

He slunk to a seated position on the floor and pulled the squirming body closer to his own, loving the way every muscle tensed at the movement. This was pain. This was how it had to be.

Boscorelli was breathing heavily, labored gasps smothered by his gloved hand. Blood loss could be the reason that the officer was nearly hysterical at the moment. Panic, agitation, pain...any and all a factor. 

_Justice_.

He continued to hold the knife in his hand, now cramped from gripping it so tightly for so long, and the blade still remained buried deeply inside the officer's heaving side. He could feel the muscles surrounding it spasm forcefully, trying desperately to rid themselves of the foreign object. The knife rhythmically pulsed along with them, sending shivers of pleasure up and down his spine. He'd read once that keeping the blade buried created more pain then another stabbing. Besides, every few minutes he'd give it a wicked twist just to watch Boscorelli's whole body arch and go rigid in pain. The muted screams of agony made this even more pleasurable.

_Compensation_.

Smiling cruelly, he pulled the blade out an inch or so, relishing the way the obnoxious cop writhed in agony and clenched his eyes closed. Boscorelli's hands clawed vainly at his captor's arms, silently pleading for relief as his tears ran down his face, but the menacing blade never relented. 

This one would be slow. Slow and perfectly painful. He would make sure of that.

**********

Matt grabbed the file from the young tech, his heart racing in anticipation. Inside was the answer - the killer's name.

He opened it, his eyes devouring the words printed neatly on the white page as he read aloud, "Fingerprints gathered from rearview mirror: three digits, one half-print of thumb. 100% match to a James Lee Koch..." his voice trailed off, not recognizing the name. "Should we know this guy?"

"Uh, he had no priors - just a few parking tickets and one for speeding," the tech answered with a shrug of his shoulders. 

Sam raised his brow, unaccustomed to hearing such a thing. For the most part, anyone who had committed heinous crimes like the ones this guy had, usually had a rap sheet half-a-block long. He nodded at the tech, and motioned for his partner, "Com'on, Matt. Let's get to a computer and figure out what the hell this son-of-a-bitch is up to. There's gotta be a reason for all of...this."

"Yeah," Matt breathed, "and it'd better be a damn good one..." 

********** 

The man slid to the floor beside him, pulling the knife out slowly as he did so. Bosco felt the pressure in his side hiss as it died down, and he thrashed and yelled against the attacker's hand as the pain intensified to an unbearable, throbbing spasm. Try as he might, he couldn't prevent the tears from coming and the screams of anguish from sounding. 

He could feel the man's arms tighten around his neck, squeezing his airway painfully. The dark figure oppressing him leaned close, his stubble scraping roughly across Bosco's cheek as he pressed his face against his. "Are you getting uncomfortable, Officer?" he spoke in a guttural whisper, his breath moist and hot. 

Bosco just blinked his eyes, struggling against the rising panic in his chest. He focused his efforts to control his labored, rapid breaths, but his chest heaved up and down, tightening with every inhale. He could feel the burning, seething, fiery sensation of his wound as he tried not to watch the steady spillage of blood flowing onto the floor beside them. _Oh, shit..._

With his fingers shaking from shock, he reached over and pressed a hand against the crimson flood. He winced slightly at the severe pain that immediately shot through him, attempting to mask his agony and terror. He couldn't let this guy win.

The masked attacker laughed at his pitiful attempt, a low growl gurgling from deep within. He hugged Bosco's burning body closer to his and held the knife in front of his face, as if to show off his weapon of choice. It was literally dripping in blood, and small pieces of... flesh were caught in the teeth. Bosco lost it then, giving into the twisting of his stomach as he vomited violently.

The man quickly released his hand from Bosco's mouth, hissing in disgust as the content's of his victim's stomach emptied out onto the floor, a surge of bile and blood. 

_Blood. That's blood. Oh, God, that's blood, _ Bosco thought frantically, realizing that he must be bleeding internally. _God, please help me..._

The killer leaned in again, "Do you like this? This is what you deserve, Boscorelli... This is what you get. Paybacks are a bitch, huh?"

_Paybacks... For what? _ Bosco felt sweat drenching his face from the severe pain, but he ignored the wetness and caught his breath enough to manage in a sobbing whisper, "Why...?"

The man only laughed again, but this time it was harsh, angry - almost like he was expecting the question. "They never remember... Why should you be different? I'll tell you why, Boscorelli, but not now. No, I'll tell you later, when you have felt the full effects of what you have done. When you are in as much pain as you caused me, I'll tell you..." 

Bosco barely heard him over the dull roaring of pulsing blood as it rapidly filled his ears. His vision was starting to fuzz in and out, from normal to a psychedelic kaleidoscope of spots and blurs. _Focus! _ his mind screamed as he fought the urge to give into the delirium. He couldn't give in, maybe someone would find him... 

He felt like vomiting again when he realized how preposterous the thought was. No one would find him. Ever. He would die alone with the killer, just as it had obviously been planned. 

He felt liquid filling his stomach again, burning with acidity. 

The feeling of drowning was intense as he felt himself coughing, choking on the fluid that was rapidly flooding his stomach. Struggling to breathe, he felt his eyes roll back into his head.

_Faith..._

**********

TBC... 


	23. Chapter TwentyThree

Chain of Darkness

Chapter Twenty-Three--

A/N: Thank you all so much for the GREAT reviews. I hope you like this next part just as much. Enjoy!

**Warning:** Contains violent material.

**********

He had painted the perfect picture, created something so unique, so unlike any other. This was amazing, a worthy compilation. His hands had stroked out the hues of dark crimson blood, his knife had carved the deep gash that marred the body so beautifully, his anger had brushed in the painful gasps that filled the air like a symphony. His creation, a mixture of his own joy and Boscorelli's pain. The agony and the ecstasy.

_Vengeance_.

He shifted his weight slightly and was rewarded with a loud, gasping whimper and rigid stiffening of the body he held. He felt wetness seeping into the fabric of his shirt, dampening his chest with its warmth. Sweat. Boscorelli was sweating profusely in spite of the freezing room and the fact that he was shivering uncontrollably. He was tempted to laugh aloud.

_Vindication_.

His index finger nonchalantly grazed up and down the blood-soaked blade as he sat slumped against the wall, deciding whether or not he'd plunge it into the flesh in again. Of course, with the repeat action of burying the blade into flesh, the satisfaction would be immense - but could ruin his plan terribly. The fact remained: Boscorelli must die slowly. He must suffer. Another wound would only aid in the swift arrival of his death. No, he would resist the urges and wait. 

Wait for him to bleed out.

_Paybacks are a bitch_.

***********

Matt slid into the office chair and hastily punched the password into the database. The frown plastered across his handsome face masked the anticipation that he felt at the moment, but clearly displayed the level of concentration that pushed him to find the elusive killer. His hands were shaking with impatience, his mouth dry with expectation. 

"Okay, put in the last name only and see what we get," Sam calmly instructed his eager partner, straining to be as composed as possible.

Matt's jittery fingers quickly typed the name into the search engine and hit the 'Enter' key. The machine hummed softly as it combed though thousands of files, sifting out the superfluous ones.

"Com'on," he muttered under his breath after a few long seconds had passed. The search seemed to be taking take an awful long time... 

Sam chuckled softly, shaking his head at the remark. "It'll come, Matt. Be patient."

"Ummm," his young partner grunted, glaring at the computer's monitor as if he could retrieve the information through osmosis. 

The outdated machine took its pretty time as it slowly sorted through the riff-raff, and after what seemed a short eternity, the humming stopped. The room was deathly quiet as the computer pulled up its offering. 

Matt quickly scanned down the page, reading only excerpts as he skipped past anything irrelevant. His eyes halted halfway down the page and his mouth dropped open. "Shit, Sam..." he whispered in shock. "We got it..." 

***********

Bosco gasped, determined not to heave. His stomach begged to empty itself out, but he had become so weak that he wasn't sure if he'd be able to vomit again without asphyxiating on the fluid. He tried to ignore the growing sensation of nausea and the rapid, thunderous pulsing of his heart as it struggled to keep what little blood he had left flowing though his veins. His labored, tight breaths burned his chest with every intake, and the deliciously warm and freeing sense of unconsciousness pulled gently at his exhausted body, enticing him to give up and let go.

He fought to keep his eyes open though, struggling with ever fiber of strength he had left to stay alert, awake, but even then he felt himself slipping. He found himself on the verge of giving in. This was it - his final moments of life. Well, if you could call it living. Death had to be less painful then this...

Tears streamed down his face, not so much from the considerable amount of pain he was in, but from the emotional anguish that overwhelmed him. This was it. There would be no more...

_It wasn't supposed to be like this... _He grimaced as he realized that his time had come, trying hard not to weep from grief. He would never see his Ma again, never say how much he loved her... He would never marry, have children... Never see Faith again, never crack a joke at her, never laugh with her again... 

His chest inadvertently convulsed, choking as his body fought not to suffocate. He felt like he was drowning, and with every breath heavy fluid filled his body to the bursting point. He couldn't catch his breath; there was so much pressure...too much. 

This was how it felt to die. Dying. He was dying. A soft sob escaped his lips and he stifled the urge to break down entirely. _God, help me..._

As the seconds and minutes passed, he could feel his body weaken slowly, seemingly losing strength with each feeble beat of his heart. His thoughts wandered aimlessly, and he wasn't able to keep his mind focused on much of anything now.

The man that held him moved slightly, sending fierce pain ricocheting though his aching body. _God! _ he tried to scream, but could only manage a breathless whimper as his back reflexively arched in pain. _Please..._

_Please...just let me go, God..._

Never in his entire life had he ever wished to die. Never. It had come down to this.

_It's not supposed to be like this..._ He was supposed to live a long life and die in his sleep. He was supposed to go down in a blaze of glory, a quick shot to the heart from a shootout, die on the job - the job that he loved. Anything but this...

Bosco shivered violently, his teeth chattering as his body was racked with tremors. Sweat slowly rolled down his flushed cheeks, dripping silently onto his chest and soaking his shirt through. The wetness was cold against his skin and only aggravated the vicious trembling of his fevered body. 

He frowned, wondering how long he'd been lying there with a cavernous hole in his body. It couldn't have been more than ten minutes, could it have? Even though it'd felt like hours and maybe even days had passed, he was cogent enough to figure on a logical amount of time. Ten minutes, maybe fifteen - couldn't have been longer or he would have bled out entirely. 

Blood had pooled underneath him and his pants were completely saturated in the dark fluid. It was sticky, cold, thick - wrong. His hands were still firmly pressed against the wound as he tried in vain to stop the steady spillage, but thick rivers of blood ran through his fingers, the vital liquid slowly becoming a darker and darker hue as time passed. 

The stabbing pain from earlier had dulled slightly, no longer a vigorously twisting spasm, but now it throbbed red-hot, like someone had dug a hot poker into his side. 

His captor's arms had never loosened from his throat and his hot, moist breath tickled Bosco's ear, making the hairs on his neck stand up. The man cruelly grabbed his wrist and yanked his hand away from the gaping wound, tearing the few clots that had finally begun to form. "Wish you were dead?" he growled when Bosco moaned in agony and gagged. 

_God, please... I can't... Help me please..._

"This is what you did to me. This is how my life has been since..." the gravely voice trailed off, as if the man was in a far-off place - memory lane perhaps.

Bosco gagged again, his stomach feeling very heavy and full. _Don't' throw up... Don't throw up... Please..._ he inwardly pleaded with his disconnected body, struggling against the bile burning at his esophagus.

_God, please... I'm begging you..._

***********

Faith stepped out onto the frozen sidewalk, mentally grumbling at her partner's carelessness. All she wanted right now was the comfort and security of her husband and warm bed. Instead, she was traipsing through the snow in the middle of the night, all because of Bosco.

_Stop it, Faith. It's not like he meant to..._ she reproached herself for being in such a foul mood. This wasn't Bosco's fault. She bit her tongue, deciding not to make any comments to him about her inconvenient trip. He didn't need her ragging on him...

The snow crunched under her boots as she walked past his beloved car, smiling at the way he kept it carefully covered every night. _He tucks it in like it's a baby or something... _ She let out a soft chuckle at the thought, picturing Bosco fondling and caressing the large piece of metal. From the way he talked about it, she had long-since figured out one thing: It _was_ his baby...

She sighed heavily, the thick white fog of her breath a stark contrast to the pitch-blackness of the evening. Her eyes wandered to his apartment four floors above, absentmindedly wondering whether or not her partner was asleep. Time stopped and came slamming into her as she felt her breath catch in her chest. 

The windows were completely dark. Dark. Bosco was afraid of the dark. He never left the lights off. Her heart dropped to the ground and her stomach leapt into her throat. 

Something was very wrong. 

"God," she breathed, unable to tear her eyes from the horrifying sight. "No..."

*********** 

"Adam-55-3, respond to a silent alarm at Amsterdam and 12th."

Carlos looked over at his supervisor, his eyes speaking louder than any amount of begging could. He had managed to put on the saddest puppy eyes that Doc had ever seen him conjure up. 

He looked so pathetic that Doc almost laughed, but he smothered the sudden urge and shook his head. "Let's go," he commanded softly.

Carlos shot him a look of pure annoyance, "Com'on, Doc," he moaned, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes, "that alarm gets pulled three times a week! Nobody's gonna be there... Please..."

"Yeah, well, the first time that you don't show up is the last time that you see your badge. Got it?"

Carlos pulled on his FDNY coat on slowly, grumbling all the while, "Hey, remember that story about the guy that cried wolf? What happened at the end? Oh, yeah, the helper-guys didn't show and he got eaten up... I think we should stay here and leave the alarm puller for the wolves. Either that or I'll kick their sorry ass..."

"Shut up, Carlos," Doc muttered. "I swear, sometimes you talk just to hear the sound of your own voice..."

*********** 

Faith finally averted her eyes from the hollow, darkened windows, forcing herself to step back for a second and think. _Okay, be rational. Think, Faith...think..._

Her best attempts to come up with a game plan were thrown out the window when pure panic overtook her body. She ran to the building, frantically praying the whole way. 

_Oh, God, Bosco... Oh, God..._

**********

He felt the man behind him wipe the blood-soaked blade off on his shirtsleeve, sending fresh wetness against his skin. _Why is this happening? Why? _

"Your friend Gusler remembered me," the man unexpectedly spat, breaking the silence of the small bathroom, then chuckled evilly. "We had a great time together. He fussed a lot, poor boy, but then again, he had a nice sized slug in his gut..."

Bosco swallowed hard against the large lump forming in his throat. _God, this guy is so sick_. He closed his eyes, trying vainly to rid his mind of the horrible images that swam before him. 

"Why...?" he whispered, his throat tight and sore from the acidic bile that had eaten away the lining.

The man squeezed his neck harshly, intentionally strangling him as he cut off all air. "You want to know, do ya?" he snarled angrily. "I'll tell you - you miserable, pathetic son-of-a-bitch..."

***********

Faith ran up the stairwell, her heart beating frantically with alarm. Raw panic gnawed away at her stomach, causing intense nausea to well up in her throat. _This isn't' happening... Bosco is okay... This isn't happening..._

Her breath began to come sharp and short as she rounded the last corner. She stopped mid-step, staring at her partner's apartment; the familiar dark green paint and slightly crooked gold numbers. The door was closed.

Try as she might, she couldn't take that as a good sign. The closed, and most likely locked door did nothing to ease her fears. In fact, the sight of it made her feel even more trepidation and anxious worry. _Bosco..._

She barely felt her feet moving as she walked slowly over, the sensation of floating overcoming reality. _This isn't happening... I'm dreaming..._

Faith stopped directly in front of the door, hand automatically reaching into her purse to retrieve the spare key her partner had given her "just in case". She bit back the nervous sob that threatened to make her presence known, and she felt herself hesitate, her shaking fingers gripping the key tightly. Should she go in? _What if..._

The gruesome images from last week flashed through her head. Gusler. She and Bosco had found Gusler in his own apartment...

Faith nearly retched at the recollection. _God, no, please..._

The key shook as she inserted it slowly into the deadbolt, unlocking it first, then the regular lock. They both barely clicked, never giving off more sound than a pin dropping. She gripped the doorknob tightly, bracing herself for what lay inside.

********** 

Sam felt his eyes widen as he struggled to comprehend what his partner was reading from the old newspaper article, "...the untimely death of innocent bystander, Ryan Peter Koch, who was fatally shot yesterday afternoon. Ryan was on his way home from school when gunfire erupted across the street, the result of an attempted bank robbery gone awry. The young boy was hit by a stray bullet and was rushed to Angel of Mercy hospital, but the gravity of his wound was too severe and he passed away en route. Koch is survived by his only living relative, his father James Lee Koch..."

The silence was deafening as both detectives stared at each other in shock. They had it. Means, motive, and opportunity. Fingerprints clear enough to nail him. Case closed.

"Uh," Matt whispered softly, breaching the stillness of the moment, "so this was revenge then, right? He killed the cops that couldn't save his son..."

Sam nodded, but his explanation made a little more sense, "Or that caused it to happen to his son. It said that the reason the robbers shot was because they saw the herd of cops surrounding the building." 

"Good, God..." Matt uttered, suddenly sickened. "At least it's over now."

"Not so fast," Sam spoke slowly, the wheels in his head turning. "We need to find him first. I have a bad feeling that we may've figured this out a little too late."

**********

The man began talking, his voice taking on a gravely tone, no doubt a refection of the obvious pain he was feeling, "You killed my son. Don't you remember? You killed him. His name was Ryan and he was on his was to school. You bastards started shooting at that bank and then... then they fired back," he whispered. "And he died. You killed him. How can you kill a little boy and not even remember?" 

Bosco remained silent, thinking back to that afternoon. He remembered it now, clear as day. The shock of the little boy's death had weighed heavily on him for weeks, but it had been at least a year since then and he'd managed to push the guilt away into the darkest corner of his mind, the place he kept everything that he strove to let go of. He felt his shoulders sag at the reminiscence, the heavy, strangling culpability coming back full-force.

He closed his eyes, painfully recalling every sight, sound, and feeling of the horrible day. The trees, brightly colored with the fall foliage. The scream of sirens as cruiser after cruiser pulled up in front of the gray, cement building. The uneasy feeing of disquiet as he and Ty, his partner that day, crept up to the large glass doors. The horrible roar of automatic fire as round after round of ammunition was emptied into the street from within. The shriek of a terrified child...

Bosco winced, struggling to push the images away, back to the dark corner where they belonged. The shooting wasn't his fault anymore than it was the other cops that had senselessly been slain. The robbers had seen them as they encircled the building and had tried to shoot their way out... It wasn't their fault... He couldn't let this guy get to him. He couldn't die without his honor. 

"You remember now, dontcha?" the guy hissed in his ear, raw anger making his voice tight. "Gusler remembered me... He remembered me from that day. I was the hysterical father that you carelessly pushed away. You said it was too dangerous there... But Ryan was there before and you didn't make him move, didn't get him to safety. You took me away but didn't bother to save my son... Now you have to die."

The man cruelly brought his hand down, punching his clenched fist into Bosco's wound.

********** 

He clenched his fists as he spoke, the warm, familiar rush of rage overtaking his senses. Just moments before he'd felt Boscorelli's body slacken, from guilt or pain he didn't know, but his temper flared and he was entirely too tempted to slit his wretched throat right that second. 

Images of his son's beautiful face swam before him and brought him back to that day. The day that his only source of joy, his only reason for living was stolen. The day the music died. 

He raised his fist and brought it down swiftly, drilling it harshly into the knife wound. Boscorelli's body convulsed, writhing in extreme agony as he sobbed hysterically, his breaths coming so short and tight that he wheezed. His legs kicked at the floor as he struggled against the arms that held him, and his hands clawed weakly at his wound, as if trying to staunch the pain. 

It would never do. The officer's efforts were completely ineffective and he opened the wound even more, sending an excessive amount of blood splashing into the pool already drying on the floor beside them. 

He reached a finger to touch the syrupy liquid, unceremoniously tracing a circle in the thickening puddle as he noted the consistency was nearly the same car oil. Funny, but he wasn't concerned anymore about how Boscorelli would die. Quickly or slowly, it didn't matter - he just needed closure. And if it took all night... 

**********

Shaking fingers twisted the knob clockwise, making a great effort to open the latch with the least amount of noise as possible. Everything in her screamed for her to run in, forget her head and save her partner. But Faith knew that losing her composure now could prove devastating.

The door squeaked softly as she slipped inside, and she cringed at the barely noticeable reverberation as she closed it behind her once more. Standing as still as possible, she strained to hear a sound - any sound. Seconds passed before a low noise reached her ears, crashing into her like a ton of bricks. 

It was the unmistakable sounds of pure agony: sobbing, groaning cries of pain. 

_Bosco_, her brain registered. _Oh, God..._

She stood frozen as he cried, tears of distress springing into her own eyes as she listened, horrified and panicked and heartbroken all at once.

_I need to do something..._ she though, snapping out of the terror-stricken trance. _I have to help him. I need a gun. Where the hell is his gun? _

Blinking the hot tears away, she looked around frantically, trying desperately to remember where he kept his off-duty weapon. Her eyes fell on the end table that sat next to the living room sofa. 

Bingo.

********** 

Sam nervously strummed his fingers against the desk, his mind working frenetically to figure out what they needed to do next. They really should send a squad to the address that was lit on the screen, but somehow his instincts advised him not to go to the trouble. Something told him that the evasive James Koch wouldn't be home, but out on the prowl, perhaps already slaying his next victim...

His head shot up as an idea suddenly occurred to him. "Matt, pull up that search engine again," he said quietly, gesturing to the computer. "I want you to run another search."

"Yeah?" his partner questioned as he hit a few keys, his eyes burning with curiosity. "What for?"

"I want to see which officers responded to that call. Just pull it up real quick."

"Sure thing," Matt said. He typed in a string of commands and settled back in his seat as he waited. "Here you go," he drawled softly when the page come up, pushing his chair back to make room for his partner to move in.

Sam stepped closer to the screen, reading the names to himself silently. Anthony Moretti, James Barry, Maurice Boscorelli, Tyrone Davis Jr., Michael Jacobson, Steven Gusler...

All had been attacked except for... Officer Boscorelli.

_Gotcha, you son-of-a-bitch. _

He tapped his finger on Boscorelli's name, "Get his address and then grab your coat. I think we got him."

********** 

Faith moved without a sound into the dark living room, her heart racing crazily as she continued to hear her partner's pitiful sobs. Tears of ran down her face as she kept up a constant patter inside her head. _Keep it together, Faith. Keep it together for him..._

Her foot slipped slightly on something as she crossed the floor, but she caught herself and looked down quickly to see what had hindered her steps. A wet, dark stain marred the flooring, smeared this way and that. She'd seen that very stain many times before, but none had made her chest so tight, her breaths stop so suddenly. _Blood. Bosco's blood. _

Her hand flew to her mouth, smothering her shocked cry and the impulsive gag that attempted to permeate her lips. _Oh, God..._

Forcing her body to remain under her control, she moved once again for the end table, her eyes purposely averting from their downward gaze. She didn't let herself breathe again until she had opened the drawer and noiselessly pulled the familiar weight of the gun into her shaking hand. She didn't bother to check if it was loaded, knowing full well that Bosco would have kept it ready. 

She took a deep, shaky breath, willing her lead-filled feet towards the back of the small apartment. 

**********

The pain slightly died down in small increments, but each sob that tore through his tormented body aggravated it and sent shocks of white-hot fire up and down his side. He knew he shouldn't be crying, should try to attain his honor, but the sharp throbs were so excruciating that he didn't really didn't care anymore... 

He was beyond trying to be strong, beyond trying to die with dignity. He couldn't control anything anyway, and somehow sobbing the irrepressible tears helped soothe his heartache and pain. 

A slight sound caught his attention, and he forced his eyes to open fully as he stared at the doorway. The man holding his didn't appear to have heard anything and continued to play maliciously with his knife, slowly brushing it up and down Bosco's side, wordlessly threatening to stab him once more. 

Was there someone in his house? _Oh, God, please let it be someone... Please help me..._

The hall outside was completely silent once more. Maybe he had just imagined it... No one would be there. Faith was at home, his Ma at work... Nobody else cared enough about him to drop by. He felt fresh tears of frustration spill down his cheeks and he forced back the urge to heave once more. 

No! There it was again, the soft creaking of the floorboards. Bosco felt himself holding his breath expectantly as his wide eyes nearly bore a hole into the darkened hall. 

He saw a slight movement and then a form move into the murky shadows.

_Help me..._

***********

TBC...


	24. Chapter TwentyFour

Chain of Darkness

Chapter Twenty-Four--

A/N: Once again, thank you for all of the great feedback! It's very much appreciated! There's still more to come, and I threw in a twist or two... ;)

**Warning:** Contains violent material. 

**********

Faith stepped noiselessly into the doorway, her trembling fingers gripping the cold metal gun resolutely. The darkness of the night hindered her sight, and her eyes begged to focus as she moved, knowing full-well that something appallingly disturbing lay right in front of her. Every emotion played madly in her body, cataclysmically sending adrenalin rushing through her veins. The terrible, horrifying cries emanating from the bathroom had subsided a few seconds ago, and now the apartment was encased in a tomblike hush. Her heart randomly raced and stopped as she braced herself for what she was about to witness. _Be strong, be strong...God, Bosco, hold on..._

A second passed before her eyes adjusted fully, shadows coming into focus first, and then the shapes of two men slumped against the wall. Her breath was once again taken from her as she recognized her partner's trembling body strewn haphazardly against the other man. 

_Oh, God, no..._

Time slowed considerably, preventing her from committing the swift actions that her mind screamed for. Her hand slowly brought the gun up as she felt her legs nearly give out in panic. 

Then she saw it. First, a long, thin silhouette, and then a glint of metal. The man raised the long, sharp knife above Bosco's body, wordlessly threatening to end his life.

***********

Bosco felt his body involuntarily become rigid, his arms and legs jerking erratically as pain shot through him. Reflexes were impulsively causing his exhausted, aching body to spasm, bringing on a fresh new wave of torture. Using every ounce of strength he had left, he had managed to curb the inclination to vomit the heavy fluid that had filled his stomach to the bursting point, fighting against the bile and pulsing gags only because he knew that if he did indeed throw up, he might inhale the liquid and strangle to death. His hands and feet were becoming numb from loss of circulation, or rather lack of enough blood, and he could see them twitching sporadically as they begged for the vital fluid. Unfortunately, he was still losing blood in a steady, relentless flow, and his efforts to stem the stream were useless. _Please help me..._

He gasped softly as he realized that someone was indeed standing before them - a tall, dark silhouette that moved adeptly from shadow to shadow.

His tear-filled eyes refused to focus entirely, but he didn't need the extra vision to make out the figure's owner. He knew that shadow, that form - he'd worked alongside it for eight long years. _Faith_.

He felt his breath leave his burning chest as a heavy sigh of mixed relief, and he waited, watching her in shock as she brought up her right hand shakily, her hand grasping the familiar shape of a gun. He could feel the man behind him move slightly, bringing on a fresh wave of red-hot agony. 

_Faith...please..._ he begged as his body quivered against the seething fire. 

***********

The steering wheel had warmed from near-frozen to a comfortable temperature as Matt clenched the leather ring tightly, the change entirely generated from his nervous energy. 

Sam had just explained the reason for their swift departure, warning him of the possibility that they could and just might cross paths with the killer they sought. This information only served to sent shivers of horror and alarm racing up and down his spine. Nearly beside himself with anxiousness, his only comfort was the heavy, but reassuring weight of the two weapons that were strapped to his torso. 

_God, please..._he prayed silently, his fears and wishes only heard by the Man upstairs, _Oh, God, I'm scared... Please, please let everything go okay. We need this to be it... this has to be it... Please help us - if you're out there. Please..._

**********

He sighed contentedly when he felt Boscorelli suddenly jerk again, his body becoming more and more rigid as seizing convulsions overtook his trembling form. The soothing feelings of complete retribution were washing over him, and he relished in each agonizing movement from his victim. 

It wouldn't be long now until he would feel the sadistic convulsions completely engulf the officer, each and every muscle in his weakened body fighting desperately for control, but it would be to no avail. He would slowly become limp, his body having fought until there was nothing left to fight with, no energy, no strength left at all. His eyes would droop, then roll back in his head until only the whites showed, and the treacherous quivering of his extremities would slowly subside, becoming completely flaccid as he died.

In his twisted mind, contorted from pure grief and an evil thirst for reprisal, he only saw beauty in this moment, and he waited anxiously for the end. He thought a few times for a fleeting second that perhaps this was going too far, that his actions were too extreme, but the haunting images of his son's terrible and untimely death would always drive him to finish. 

A slight movement caught his eye, and his head snapped up. _What the hell...?_ Whatever it was crept into the shadows of the doorway and filled the empty hole with the dark -but unmistakable- silhouette of a person. A person that was holding a gun.

Stunned, he hesitated for half a second, his mouth falling open slightly. How had this happened? He'd been so careful, so meticulous... 

His shock quickly turned into anger, and his fist curled furiously around the handle of the knife as he raised it menacingly, daring said figure to shoot, his mouth turning up at the corners in a devilish grin. 

_Try me_.

********** 

Bosco felt his heart begin to race as he saw the glint of the bloody knife again, but this time it was held ominously right above his wound, wordlessly threatening to plunge into his side once more. _God, no..._

His breathing started to pace his rapid heart rate, coming sharp and quick, a clear reflection of his pain and panicked terror. He felt his body seize up and convulse again, but this time he didn't fight the vicious shudder, instead concentrating his efforts on ridding his mouth of the bloody bile that had seeped in from his roiling stomach. 

_Shoot him, Faith...Just shoot him..._ he pled wordlessly with his partner, his frantic gasps not allowing the actual words to be spoken. 

But Faith must have seen the knife and wasn't moving. Her weapon was still leveled at the man, but she had yet to pull the trigger or even speak in obvious fear for his life. Bosco, although he appreciated this consideration, wanted nothing more right then to hear the loud crack of the gun discharging. He feared nothing for his own life, but was alarmed at the realization that his partner might also be hurt or killed as well. _Just shoot the bastard, Faith! _

Sweat continued to pour down his face as he watched the silent game of chicken that was being played. Faith never wavered, though neither did her opponent, and the room was filled with a thick tension that was only cut by the rasping wheezes of his hurried, awkward breaths. 

**********

She stood frozen, devastated, as she listening to the rough rattling of her partner's labored breathing, her mind groping desperately for the right thing to do. Should she shoot now and risk killing Bosco? Should she say something? Should she just stand here and hold the gun at him? What if he stabbed Bosco again? What if...

Her frantic thoughts were interrupted by a low growl. The man was laughing, a gravely, guttural sound that made her stomach turn with fear. _Oh, sick...God, help me...help me..._

The man shifted his body until he was sitting upright; the knife never faltering from it's precarious position right above Bosco's heaving side. Her partner groaned miserably at the movement, his body stiffening in obvious agony, and his breathing altering to hysterical gasps. She couldn't make out his face, but she knew that he was terrified and in excruciating pain, leaving her feeling very helpless and vulnerable to the knife and the man that held it.

_God, tell me what to do! Help me! _

The man chuckled wickedly again, but this time she saw him shake his head. His amusement quickly subsided though, and his mood made a swift change to anger as he snarled, "Put the gun down."

Faith, startled by the unexpectedness of the deep voice, felt herself jump slightly. She fought with her whirling mind for a second, trying madly to decide whether or not to obey. If she dropped the weapon, her only defense, she as well as her partner were entirely susceptible to the man. If she didn't... Would he...? He must know that if he stabbed Bosco again that she wouldn't hesitate to shoot him. 

She quickly chose to keep the gun in her hand, praying for all she was worth that her decision would not prove deadly. A few seconds passed of silence, save the grating rattling of Bosco's choking breaths, and Faith wasn't sure what to do once again. She couldn't just stand there...

"I said put the gun down," the dark shadow snapped, clearly furious. He raised the knife an inch, again threatening to plunge it in. "You don't and I kill him."

_Bosco, hold on...God, don't let him die..._

Faith took a deep breath, taking a tentative step into the room, hoping her rash movement would throw the man off for a moment so that she could get closer for a better shot. _Careful..._

"Stop!" 

She complied this time when she saw him grab Bosco's neck with his free hand and squeeze it harshly. Her partner's breaths were silenced altogether as the little air he was getting was cut off entirely. 

**********

He watched in horror as Faith took a slow step into the bathroom, his tear-filled eyes begging her to stop. The man responded to her move by sharply grabbing his throat and choking off his air supply, and once again Bosco was left fighting against the strong, strangling fingers. _Oh, please...help me, Faith. Shoot him! _

"Let him go..." his partner whispered frantically, finally finding her voice. She sounded terrified, and rightly so, but right now she just needed to shoot... He needed air...

Painful, multicolored spots began to form at the edges of his vision, searing through his head like fire, and he struggled not to pass out from pain, lack of air, and hysteria. _Faith... please...I need air...I need..._

He felt the recognizable sensation of his stomach turning violently, but this time he could not do anything to stop the vomit that made its way rapidly up his throat. Fortunately, because the man was holding his throat so tightly, nothing happened except the vicious gagging that his reflexes allowed. Again and again, his body heaved, seizing in excruciating spasms, but he could do nothing except inwardly scream as him body was racked once again with convulsions. _Faith...Oh, God! Faith..._

***********

"Turn here, Matt," Sam commanded softly. His voice had taken on an edgy tone that mirrored the uneasiness that filled his being. Somehow instinct had warned him to prepare himself for anther grisly murder, and his stomach and nerves weren't looking forward to it at all. He sighed deeply as he noted the white tinge to his partner's knuckles as he forcefully gripped the steering wheel. _Poor kid. _

Matt was so young, so fresh. The stress of a massive homicide investigation like this one had to be crushing - something a young man his age should never have to be put through. Yet, he had been such a great partner, such an immense help in this case. Heck, if it weren't for the intuitive and insanely smart detective, they would have never gotten the break that he'd found that night. Sam honestly didn't know where he'd be right now without him...

He thought back to their first day together, the day that the Chief had introduced them as partners. Sam had been skeptical when he'd first caught sight of the mid-twenties, blond, dimpled, and utterly charming Texan, but had let his first impression slide after the first few hours. Matt had quickly proved himself to be not only mature, but an intelligent, hardworking, driven individual.

Sam watched his young face intently, his eyes lingering on the hard lines that replaced his jovial dimples, the scowl of frustration and concentration that had superseded his infectious grin. 

"You okay, kid?" he asked, knowing that his partner had to be feeling the same heavy anticipation that he was right that moment. 

Matt swallowed hard and nodded, but his dark, brooding eyes betrayed him fully. "Yeah..." he answered in his soft drawl, his voice slightly above a whisper, as if he was trying to convince himself as well as his partner.

Sam half-smiled at the failed attempt, amused at the first lie that his young partner had ever told him. "It'll be okay, Matt," he stated solemnly.

The corners of Matt's mouth turned up in a ghost of his past grins, no doubt chuckling inwardly at the obvious lie and the irony of the avowal. Sam also felt himself smiling, amused as well, relived and glad that his partner was okay. 

Perhaps lying to each other was wrong, but at that moment it was right.

**********

Faith watched her partner writhe in agony as he struggled to find air, fighting not to scream or do anything terribly rash. Her fingers itched to squeeze the trigger, but by the way her partner was squirming, she would never get a clear shot. She would have to put the gun down...

The man didn't leave her enough time to drop it, however, before he let out a low bellow of frustration and plunged the knife into Bosco's side once more, but this time further up his torso - nearly heart level...

_Oh, my God! Oh, God! _

"Noooo...!" she shrieked, as she instinctively ran forward a few steps and aimed, firing off a round into the darkness. The bright, white, glaring flash blinded her for a moment, but her eyes adjusted a second later enough to see. 

Her shot had been right on. The man slowly slumped against the wall and then fell sideways down to the floor, dragging a sobbing, gasping Bosco along with him. 

She immediately flew to her partner's side, her hysterical gasps lost amongst Bosco's. "Oh, God... Oh, God... Oh, God, Bosco..." she whispered as she knelt beside his quivering form. 

He wasn't moving at all, save the ragged movement of his panting chest, his labored breaths tearing though the room louder than the gunshot. 

********** 

_Dammit_.

She wasn't backing down. She was refusing to obey him. How dare her... How dare her! Did she know what he could do? What he could do right now to her partner? She had ruined his plan terribly, and now she had the audacity to stand up to him as if she could control what would go down. Well, he would make her pay for this... this rude interruption. 

_Dammit, you bitch_.

Completely frustrated and tiring of the game she seemed to be playing, he let out a growl and gave in to his impulses, plunging the knife down quickly into Boscorelli's heaving side. 

The blade ripped through the skin easily, burying deeply as it tore though layer upon layer of soft flesh and muscle. Fresh, thick fluid spilled from the wound, and he felt the immense satisfaction well up in his chest again as he forced the blade down even further. Boscorelli thrashed about, but his jerky, shuddering movements didn't sway his actions at all. He yanked the blade out again, knowing full well that the suction and motion would only aid in the bloodletting of the wound. 

He was vaguely aware of the sudden movement from the other officer as she scrambled into the room and aimed that dammed gun, instead choosing to concentrate on the feelings that were overwhelming him. 

Ryan's face appeared before him again, and he smiled, realizing that his job had been done. She hadn't foiled his plan after all. Justice had been served, vengeance had been captured, his vindication taken care of. Boscorelli now had two fatal wounds maiming his body and there was no way in hell that he would make it out of the apartment alive.

The gun sounded, a bittersweet roar, and he felt a burning ball of fire hit his chest. He nearly laughed though, remembering the one thing that the officer's did not know. But they would find out soon enough...

_Ryan, I love you. Daddy loves you..._

*********** 

Between the rings and spots that masked his vision, Bosco saw Faith hesitate. She looked as though she might just give in to the man's request and drop the gun... _No, Faith... Noooo..._

New tears of discouragement welled up in his eyes and he felt the man tense behind him, his arm tightening around his throat even more. _No! Air ...I... need air..._

His ephemeral thoughts were quickly pushed aside though, when the man's arm came down again, enforcing a new wave of pain and nausea that enveloped him as the blade once again stabbed him forcefully. 

Bosco felt his back arch again in agony, and he used every ounce of energy he had left to try to free himself from the unforgiving grasp. He writhed against the man, the knife, and the burning pain that seared his body in half, floundering and thrashing about violently. The man had other ideas and pushed again on the knife, his strength outweighing Bosco's by multitudes. 

_God! Oh, shit! _ He could hear the horrible thumping of his feet as they kicked vainly at the floor, and the eerie scratching sound of his fingernails as they dug into the wood, struggling and straining with all his might. 

His eyes were so blurry and full of pain-ridden tears that he couldn't see Faith as she ran in, his ears so filled with the sound of rushing blood that he didn't hear her frenzied footsteps. Bosco felt himself losing the battle of consciousness, his body finally giving in and letting go, his will no longer strong enough to contradict. 

A loud, resounding, yet familiar, roar echoed throughout the room and he felt the man's grasp weaken considerably, his fingers letting go of his throat, and then his body slumping against the wall behind them. 

Bosco sucked in a huge breath, dispersing some of the painful, psychedelic spots as he attempted to catch his breath once again, gasping and wheezing, choking on the rising fluid that threatened once more to end his life. 

_Finally_, he thought weakly as he felt himself slide down with the man to the floor. _She used the damn gun... Finally, Faith..._

**********

He was so still. Bosco had stopped the sickening struggling and had fallen easily to the floor beside the bleeding mad man, his arms and legs flopping once before they hit the ground with a horrible thud. He continued to gasp for air nevertheless, and the sobbing, gurgling inhales were her only consolation. 

Faith felt herself fall to her knees and crawl towards him, her own breath refusing to come due to the panic that had tightened her chest. "Bosco! God, Bosco..." she sobbed in a whisper as she neared him. She nearly lost her dinner when she saw his face, his eyes squeezed closed as his mouth contorted into an agonized grimace, his whole face dripping in sweat and his hair matted down from the sticky wetness. 

"Bosco?" she choked, her eyes moving down to his wounds. In the darkness, she could make out the sinister stain that had marred his shirt and the two large gashes that had ripped apart the fabric, reminding her of the severity of his condition. Her fingers unconsciously flexed and unflexed, her mind frenetically trying to remember what she should do in such a situation.

"God..." Bosco gasped in between breaths - if you could call them that. His body began to become rigid again as another spasm overtook him, and he cried out in anguish, a groaning, pitiful sob.

Faith, dizzy from panic and adrenaline, grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it up to see the extent of the damage, but only succeeded in inflicting more pain on her partner. He clawed at her hands, his eyes begging her to stop as he moaned and twisted about on the floor.

_Oh, God...God, help me, I'm sorry. _

"I'm sorry, Bosco... I'm so sorry..." she wept. "I'll get you help... I'm sorry..."

Feeling the heavy plastic of her cell phone, she reached into her pocket and retrieved it, snapping the cover open as hurriedly as her shaking fingers would allow. The device let out a resounding beep as it turned on, and she quickly dialed the emergency number, letting her free hand rest reassuringly on her partner's clenched fist.

********** 

Bosco didn't know whether to feel relived or alarmed again. Sure, Faith had shot the bastard that had done this... but he was still dying. On his bathroom floor, no less. _Oh, sick..._

_Don't let me die, God...Please... I'm begging you...I'll do anything..._

Faith had slid into a kneeling position beside him, and was trying to help, but whatever she'd done had only sent fierce pain ricocheting up and down his body. 

_Shit..._his mind screamed when he felt himself convulse again, his body trying to fight against the excruciating pain. _Shit, shit, shit..._ He just gritted he teeth and clenched his fists, hoping he could ride it out without passing out. 

He felt Faith's warm hand grab his own, and heard her frantic call to the emergency dispatcher. He'd heard her make similar calls before, one being last week when she'd called in Marty's attack, but none he'd ever heard had been so terror-stricken, so distressed.

She leaned in when she had finished, pushing his wet, sticky hair off his forehead. "Bos? I need to put pressure on..." her voice cracked, but she continued on bravely, "...it's goin' to hurt, okay? I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."

Faith pulled her scarf from around her neck, pausing only to ball it up into a tight wad. _Oh, shit, no...please..._

He tried to prepare himself for the onslaught, but his best efforts fell extremely short. The pain was unlike any other, more excruciating and terrifying then anything he'd experienced so far. Hell had to be less painful then this... He felt his stomach turn as he thrashed about and kicked against it, screaming as best as his tight, heaving chest would allow, and he finally gave in to the urge fully, vomiting a surge of liquid as his stomach emptied itself of the heavy, stifling fluids.

Faith's eyes grew wide at this and she quickly grabbed his chin, turning his head so he wouldn't strangle on it. "God," she shrieked in frustration, "don't do this!"

He sobbed as he gagged and choked, struggling not to inhale any of the blood. _I'm sorry, Faith..._

*********** 

"See, I told you," Carlos griped to his partner as they pulled up to the building in question, "There's nobody here. False alarm. Like it's gonna be any different the thirtieth time this week... seriously."

Doc rolled his eyes for the thirtieth time that hour, frustrated with the constant patter of nonsense that his partner made him put up with. He pretended not to hear the annoying comments though, and parked the bus alongside the curb. "Let's just go in and get this over with, okay?"

"Doc, there's nobody here," Carlos stated slowly and emphatically, as if the senior paramedic hadn't heard him the first time. "We don't need to get out and check it out. It's fine, see?" He motioned with his gloved hand to the seemingly empty building, his brow raised in a cocky smirk.

"Carlos, what the hell is wrong with you tonight? All you want to do is cut corners! Stop being such a baby and do your job - or I'll fire you. I'm not kidding."

Carlos opened his mouth to protest, but the loud cackling of the CB radio interrupted him, "Adam-55-3, respond to a 10-13 at 6702 Wallace Rd, apartment 430. I repeat, 10-13, Officer down."

Doc felt his breath catch apprehensively, and he glanced over at Carlos. The young man's mouth hung open, his eyes wide with concern. "You think...?" Carlos started, leaving off the end of the sentence wisely.

Doc flicked the sirens on and shifted the bus into 'drive', his own concern displayed in his apparent haste. "I don't know, Carlos... I don't know..."

**********

Matt hopped out of the car, closing the door quietly behind him. His eyes traveled to the windows that littered the side of the building, casually wondering if any belonged to Officer Boscorelli. 

Sam plodded though the snow, heading for the front door, his hand automatically reaching for the security of his gun. Matt followed suit, his fingers finding the metal and pulling it from its holster, the nervousness of his stomach rebelling against his efforts to calm it. 

"Sam?" he asked hesitantly, afraid to voice his fears.

His partner turned his head slightly as they made their way into the warmth of the heated apartment complex, never stopping his forward travel, but pausing his thoughts to focus on the young man. Sam raised his brow, noiselessly inviting him to continue.

Matt could see the kind, understanding glint in the senior detective's eyes, and was instantly comforted by his wordless reassurance. He half-smiled, realizing that the small look was all he needed. 

"Nothin'," he replied, shaking his head.

*********** 

Faith continued to press the bundled up scarf to Bosco's wounds, trying desperately to ignore his agonized cries as she administered as much pressure as she could. If she let his sobs get to her, she could very well kill him by being merciful. Then again, she was nearly killing him now... 

"Bosco, it's okay... I'm sorry. It's over... It's okay...Help's almost here..." she soothed, her voice faltering as she spoke softly. Her eyes wandered from his pain-filled, glassy eyes to the puddle of vomit that had just spewed from his mouth. She didn't need light to know that it wasn't merely bile, but a thick mix of the acid and blood. _God, help him..._

A low noise caught her attention, and her head snapped around. The man lying beside Bosco was smiling, his bloodied face frozen into a wide grin. _Oh my God! _ He wasn't dead. He was alive, breathing... and smiling. _Oh, sick..._

Faith, entirely shocked, couldn't tear her eyes away from his impious face. He slowly took a breath, shuddering slightly as he inhaled, and then spoke in a throaty whisper, "You actually think...this is...over? He'll find you... He will...find...you..." He chuckled, using the last of his air to send shivers of revulsion racing up and down her spine. 

Faith grabbed the gun from the floor and pointed it at his heart. "Shut up, you sick bastard!" she breathed, firing off another round at point-blank range. Blood spattered everywhere as his chest exploded, leaving little to the imagination. 

He was definitely dead now. 

********** 

The two detectives ambled promptly up the stairwell, each lost in his own thoughts. The coldness of the evening just helped to instill the uncomfortable dread that smothered away any positive thoughts, leaving only room for the foreboding and fear-laced ones. Each, in their own time, had entertained the thought of running into the killer, the reality of the happening all to feasible to be taken lightly.

Suddenly, a loud reverberation echoed down the staircase, shocking the two as they halted in alarm. 

"Aw, shit..." Matt whispered, his eyes locked on the fourth floor door that the sound had emitted from. 430. Boscorelli's apartment. 

They were too late.

**********

Bosco jumped at the sudden noise, then cringed when his aching body protested ardently. He'd heard every word of what the man had said, and his chest ached with fear. _Oh, God, please don't let that be true... Please...it's over...let it be over..._

"Faith?" he managed to croak out, his burning throat barely permitting the word.

"Shhh," she shushed him, her blue eyes wide with fear. "It's okay - he's dead now, Bos... You just hold on, okay?" 

He didn't hear the last half of the sentence as the loud sound of his beating heart drowned out her words. His heart quickly picked up pace, thundering deafeningly in his head at it crazily searched for something to sustain itself. _There must not be enough blood left in me..._he though faintly as he felt his eyes flutter closed.

********** 

TBC... 


	25. Chapter TwentyFive

Chain of Darkness

Chapter Twenty-Five--

A/N: Okay, so this is my longest chapter ever. I hope you all continue to enjoy! Thank you so much for the reviews, it really helps drive me to finish! You guys are awesome!

**Warning:** Contains violent material. 

**********

Rising panic split the deafening silence in half, the stillness of the room disturbed by hysterical cries. Faith could hear herself as she sobbed, but the grating, discordant noise sounded as if it were miles off. Her fingers were still clutching the blood-soaked scarf as she pressed it into her partner's gaping wounds, praying that the small effort would curb the spilling blood enough. The sticky, dark fluid refused to curtail to her hand, and she fleetingly wondered if she should just remove it and attempt to carry Bosco out to safety... 

No, she would just have to wait for the paramedics. 

Faith felt herself losing control of her emotions as she watched in terror as her partner's eyes gradually closed, rolling backward into his head. His labored breaths had slowed considerably, leaving his lips and fingers a paltry shade of blue and his body twitching sporadically as it valiantly searched for the sustaining oxygen it needed.

"Bosco?" she whispered, her voice tight and flat with alarm, silently begging her partner to reopen his eyes and stay with her. 

He didn't move at all to reassure her, but gasped in another slow, wheezing, gurgling breath - giving her some comfort. "Please, Bosco... Stay with me..." she pleaded.

**********

They thundered up the remaining steps only to stop abruptly in front of the door. Just seconds ago, the loud reverberation of a gunshot had startled the hell out of Matt, and now his face was pale with a nearly green hue. The thought of being too late was almost too much to bear and he felt sick. 

His veteran partner motioned for Matt to stand to his left and back him up. The young man quickly complied, rewrapping gloved fingers around his gun and slipping his index into the trigger slot. _Turn the safety off, this is the real thing, _ he thought to himself as he felt his heart race in anticipation. 

Sam held up three fingers and slowly -one by one- dropped them, indicating the number of seconds that Matt had left to panic and/or run. But he didn't. He remained, eyes riveted on the door awaiting what could possibly lie inside. 

Three...two...one... _It's show time. _

Matt sent up a hasty prayer as he watched Sam kick the door in and point his gun into the darkness of the apartment. "Police!" he yelled, stepping deftly into the shadows. 

Matt followed, half-sure that something was going to jump out at them. The stillness of the apartment was unnerving, and he was suddenly hit with a strong sense of exigency and terror. To call it panic would to be putting the feeling lightly. The gnawing dread was partly contributed by the guilt he was feeling for being late, combined with the urgency of the situation and the curiosity to find out who or what had eluded them for so long. 

A soft sound coming from down the hall to their left interrupted his precautious steps. Sam turned and frowned at his partner, the look on his face exhibiting his apparent concern and mystification. A long second passed of inclusive stillness before the soft sound turned into a hoarse voice sobbing, "Help me..."

"Oh, God..." Matt breathed barely above a whisper, the compelling cry immediately tightening his chest with brutal force. "Oh, shit..."

Sam, however, managed to retain his composure and acted exactly as he should, raising his weapon and shouting out, "It's the Police! We're coming!" as they quickly made their way into the dark of a bedroom.

**********

His first inclination was to assume that he was dead. But if he could feel, could hear, and could make semi-rational thoughts... he wasn't dead, was he? 

_I'm not dead...yet..._ he realized, not entirely sure if that was a good thing or not. Were his efforts to remain alive just delaying the inevitable? Surely, the severity of his wounds and the considerable amount of blood that had seeped from his body would eventually kill him. Why even bother to fight anymore... 

But he had to fight. He couldn't just give up -- wasn't right.

The severe pain still dominated his world and his body had long since taken over, not linking to his mind anymore, leaving a strange, disconnected feeling in pain's wake. In his extremely weakened state, he could do nothing more then listen, try to bear the pain, and lay still. His heart wrenched as he heard his partner sob repeatedly for him to hang on. 

_I'll try, Faith...I'll try..._

But it was all he could do to merely stay semi-alert. His eyes had closed involuntarily a few moments ago, and he struggled to not panic as he was swept into total darkness. 

A sudden, loud, unforgiving bang slammed into his subconsciousness, startling him. He felt himself jump instinctually, the consequences of the knee-jerk reaction slicing through him as a searing wave of fire. If he could have cried out, he would have, but the cruelly disjointed state of his body would not allow it. 

_God, please... It hurts like hell..._

**********

"Central to Adam-55-3. How far are you out?"

Doc grabbed the CB microphone and pressed the talk button. "Adam-55-3. About three minutes. The snow's tyin' us up."

"10-4, Adam."

The radio beeped off, leaving the cab of the ambulance enveloped in an edgy hush, save the whining wail of the emergency sirens. Doc pressed the gas pedal down further, praying his determined action would not result in an accident. The snow was extremely slick that night, and the last thing they needed was to skid on the icy powder. 

Unconsciously, he wondered just whose apartment they were calling on. The address they'd been given placed the victim in a residential area, so it would indeed be an apartment. The victim's house perhaps...

He grimaced when he fully realized the gravity of the situation, even his most professional aptitude not enough to cover his dismay. Strangely enough, he found himself wishing that the victim would not be someone that he knew. A horrible thing to be wishing on a stranger, but he couldn't help himself.

********** 

She saw her partner strain to take another breath and she could have sworn the raspy, labored noise tore her heart in two. She reached out and stroked his face with a bloodied hand, smearing an angry red streak across his cheek, but she didn't care. She hoped that the small offer would at least let him know that she was there for him. 

The noisy crack of the shattering door startled her, and she felt her heart stop in fear. Beneath her hands, she felt her unconscious partner jump, then cringe.

_Oh, God...he isn't out... He can hear... Oh, God, he can still feel..._

Faith felt her stomach heave at this realization, knowing full-well that Bosco was getting no reprieve from the excruciating pain. At least if he was unconscious he'd be comfortable, but she was reassured to find him still with her. 

"Police!" came a shout from just feet away, and she felt herself break down in relief, sobbing as she struggled to let the intruders know where they were.

"Help me..." she cried, rocking back and forth slightly without thinking. _Help me... Help him... God, help him..._

Loud footsteps pounded against the hardwood floors, echoing around the room like a hail of gunshots. "It's the Police! We're coming!" 

Two men suddenly appeared in the doorway with their guns drawn. They stopped when they saw the chaos that was strewn about on the floor, mouths hanging open in shock.

**********

The sight was disturbing. No, that wasn't strong enough of a word. Alarming. Grotesque. Unsettling. Stunning. Each word qualified in it's own way, but none could completely surmise the devastation that had stained the white tile floors with puddles of blood and left two unmoving bodies in it's wake, a third in shaking distress.

Matt willed himself to move, but pure, unadulterated shock froze his feet and numbed his mind. A small eternity passed, or maybe it was only a few seconds, but time had warped abruptly and seemed to crawl at a snail's pace, imprinting the horrible images in his mind forever. His eyes fought to take it all in, struggling to comprehend what he was seeing as his mind simultaneously begged to forget it. 

Blood was everywhere. Red and thick, the room reeked with the salty, bittersweet smell of the drying fluid as it slowly encrusted the walls and floor with its stain. It looked deceptively to be inches deep, thicker and more solid than he'd ever seen. The wall directly before them was splattered with the wetness and a single bullet was imbedded dead-center. A gun, covered and coated in the sticky substance, sat a mere inches away, next to the sobbing woman. 

A man lay slightly to his left, his eyes open and staring blankly at the ceiling, mouth agape and somewhat curved at the corners as if he'd been smiling. His chest looked as if it had exploded, and judging by the way it was still seeping and oozing, the fatal shot must have been the one they'd heard a few seconds ago. Dead.

Not two feet away, another man lay covered in blood and sweat, it looked like. He appeared to be breathing, or at least Matt assumed he was the producer of the breathless gasps that permeated the room. _He must still be alive..._ Although the young detective had no idea how. The man looked as if he was at death's door. 

The woman -the one who had called out- was rocking slightly, her hands pressed against the gasping man's side, and she continued to weep softly, staring Matt straight in the eye, her very soul screaming for him to move and help her. He wished that he could, but his deadened reflexes and numb mind would allow no such thing.

Finally, time regained it's rightful speed and permitted movement, but only after it had tortured the young detective with the most shockingly appalling and disturbing images he'd ever seen.

He stood still even after he could move, watching in awe as Sam quickly snapped into the competent officer that he was. His partner promptly assessed the situation, and having realized that there was indeed a gun lying on the floor beside the woman, he pointed his own weapon at her and yelled, "The gun! Slide it over NOW!"

The poor woman quickly complied, using her free hand to send the gun skidding across the floor. It stopped only when it struck Matt's shoe with a thump, and he slowly bent to pick it up, still not entirely out of shock. The metal was warm in his hand, from being fired or from the fresh blood that soaked it, he didn't know. But he composed himself enough wrap it in a handkerchief that he had pulled from his pocket. Prints. They would need it for prints.

"Put your hands up!" Sam shouted, again waving his gun at the woman. "Put 'um up!" 

She didn't move, however, instead shaking her head as she sobbed, "I...can't! I'll kill...him! I'm a cop... I'm a cop... Help me!"

Matt's head snapped up at this and he squinted in the darkness, trying to make out her face. As soon as he could, he recognized her. She was Boscorelli's partner, the one they had brought in for questioning a while back... "She's a cop, Sam! It's okay, she's a cop..."

The older detective nodded and let his gun drop to his side as he bravely advanced a bit further into the room. "Who did this? Who's this? Is this the guy?" he pointed at the barely-alive man that still lay gasping, his voice sounding very confused, but authoritative. 

"No..." 

"Who is this? Boscorelli?" Matt chimed in as he took a tentative step forward, adding to the commotion and uncertainty that filled the room. The woman nodded her head to confirm, and turned back to her attempts to staunch the blood that was seeping around her fingers. 

"Yes! He's my partner... Help me! Please..."

**********

The screaming was splitting his head in two, searing though is skull like liquid lightning and hammering around madly as the sounds fought to be recognized by his brain. First the angry footsteps that were nearly unbearable, and then the ferocious shouts, strident and shrill. The silence that followed was nearly as bad and reminded him of how dark and alone it he was, down there in the depths of death. He did, on the other hand, understand that the police were there, but it took his muddled brain a good minute to sort out the various echoes and reverberations. 

The police... Was that a good thing? He didn't need the police, he needed the paramedics. And soon. He wasn't sure how long he could keep from passing out entirely. 

The screaming started up again, twice as loud as before, and this time he thought for sure that his head would explode wide open. _Please stop... I can't take it..._

Though a pain-filled haze, he deciphered the heated shouts slowly. Something about a gun... _Do they think Faith did something wrong? _

Then Faith saying she was a cop... Something about the guy... Yeah, that was it. They wanted to know who the guy was. Then who _he_ was. 

He vaguely heard his own name being called out by a slightly softer voice, and he struggled to open his eyes, ready to defend his partner and tell these people just what had gone down. 

But his body refused to obey, and no matter how hard he strained, he only managed to make his eyelids flutter. New tears of frustration spill down his cheeks, and the feeling of distraught panic rose in his throat. He felt his streingth ebbing once more, the darker, deeper hole of unconsciousness literally tugging on his will, inviting him to let himself drown in it.

He slowly relaxed, submerging himself in the darkness completely. The pain gradually vanished along with all sounds and feelings, but the deep, thick blackness terrified him. 

_Am I dead? Oh, God help me...am I dead? _

This was hell. 

********** 

What were they suggesting? That she did this?! That she had done this to her partner? She sat, completely shocked and frightened, her heart racing and her stomach nervously threatening to heave. 

The man yelled for her to raised her hands, to eradicate what little good she might be doing for Bosco just to prove her innocence. _Dammit all to hell_. She could care less about what the two officers thought right then, and their harsh orders only intensified her resolve to disregard their commands. She took a deep, shaky breath and found her voice, finally able to defend herself. 

"I...can't! I'll kill...him! I'm a cop...I'm a cop... Help me!" she choked out in a trembling sob. 

The man accusing her -or rather assuming that she was the one responsible for the mess- frowned at this, as if he couldn't decide whether to believe her or not. If she wasn't sobbing so hysterically, she might have put up a better fight, but her frightened gasps and tears overrode anything that she had to say in her justification. They would just have to believe her. But if they didn't, she sure as hell wasn't going to move from her partner's side. They would have to shoot her first.

Another voice piped up, seemingly familiar, "She's a cop, Sam! It's okay, she's a cop..." 

She recognized that drawl. It was the young detective that had questioned her and Bosco. He and his partner were here. _Oh, thank God..._ They had to know who she was...

"Who did this? Who's this? Is this the guy?" Sam barked, confused as anything. He pointed at Bosco, wondering if he was the killer. Was he crazy? This was her partner, her friend... It was Bosco. 

She attempted to explain, to tell them everything, but all she could muster was another frustrated sob and a moaning, "No..." 

This didn't seem to have any effect at all, and she could tell that the detectives were still just as confused and needing answers. Didn't they get it? Her partner was bleeding to death right in front of them and they thought they needed answers... 

_Help me, dammit! Help me! _

The younger one took a measured stepped closer, staring at Bosco with wide eyes. "Who is this? Boscorelli?" he asked.

"Yes! He's my partner... Help me! Please...He's dying... I can't stop it..." she begged, despair settling in violently. Her chest was heaving for adequate breath, but the tautness of her lungs repudiated the request. 

"Okay, okay... It's okay," Sam soothed, sliding down onto the floor next to her and squeezing her shoulder in a weak assurance. "Matt, call for a bus!"

"No, I... already did..." she sobbed. 

Sam nodded and moved to help, removing his own scarf and gloves. "Give me yours and use these. It'll help more." 

It was true. Her scarf had long ago sopped up as much blood as it could hold, and was doing little to stem the flow. She hesitated though, not wanting to inflict more pain on her already pain-racked partner. 

"It's okay," he murmured gently, assertively reaching over and removing her hand and the blood-filled cloth for her. Bosco barely protested with a weak gasp and a groan, stiffening a bit, but nothing like the rigidity of earlier that night. This only made Faith feel sicker, more heartbroken and hysterical as she realized fully what was happening. 

He was dying.

**********

"Hurry up!" Doc snapped, "Let's go!"

Carlos seemed to be taking forever as he grabbed the meds bag and backboard from the back of the bus, but in reality he was acting twice as fast as he normally did. The urgency and magnitude of the situation weighed heavily on Doc, and everything had slowed into an infuriatingly slow pace, testing his nerves and patience.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Carlos shot back, equally anxious but now slightly perturbed at his boss. There was no way in hell that he could "hurry up". He was going as fast as he possibly could... 

He felt the familiar rush of adrenaline that he always got when they received a call this big, but also the tense apprehension that reminded him instantly of his first day on the job. It was pretty much the only other time he'd ever felt that way, and he didn't like it. 

Carlos tossed the meds bag out to Doc and hopped out of the bus with the orange board and another, larger bag in tow -- the bag that held the defibrillator. He briefly hoped that they wouldn't have to use it. 

"Alright, com'on," Doc ordered shortly as he nearly ran up the frozen sidewalk and steps leading into the lobby of the apartment complex.

Carlos followed his partner's rapid pace, slowing only slightly when they reached the stairwell and began their ascent. 

_Okay... Here we go..._

********** 

Matt watched his partner -calm, cool and collected as always- kneel down next to Boscorelli and help the woman... what was her name? Yokas. 

Yokas was still understandably hysterical, but Sam handled the situation like a pro, talking gently and smoothly coaxing her shaking hands away so that he could better help her partner. 

Matt finally managed to make his legs move and ended up falling to his knees by Boscorelli's head. The officer's gasps had slowed, quickly becoming weaker and more infrequent, and he struggled to remember what he'd been trained to do in such a situation. 

He swallowed hard and placed his hands gently underneath the man's head, straightening it and tipping it back a bit to help the airflow. It seemed to help a little. The gasps weren't so choking, so raspy, and the officer appeared to be taking more breaths than he had been. 

So he stayed there, holding Boscorelli's head in his hands, trying not to look at the blood that was smeared across his face, the shiny wetness of his soaked clothing, or the pool of liquid that was drying all around them. 

_We were too late... This is our fault. My fault. _

He was aware of the rapid dampening of his pants as he kneeled, and his stomach twisted brutally when he recognized the reason why. Blood. _God, help me... Don't let me get sick...not now..._

"It's okay... We got him...It's okay," he heard Sam's reassuring voice attempt to calm Yokas, who seemed to be a little less panic-stricken. She nodded and moved up next to Matt, brushing Boscorelli's hair off of his forehead as she whispered her own words of consolation to her semi-conscious partner.

Suddenly, a violent shudder ripped through Boscorelli's body, a valiant last-ditch effort to regain control as his system slowly shut down. His back arched in a painful spasm and his extremities began to flail around as he gasped and coughed, spitting up a steady stream of bloody bile. 

_Oh, shit..._ Matt thought frantically, his heart racing as he watched in horror. _Shit..._

"It's okay, Boscorelli, we gotcha. Easy, easy! Calm down, buddy," Sam said loudly, grabbing one of the officer's arms and pinning it to the floor. But the man didn't seem to hear and jerked his arm away. "Boscorelli! Calm down, okay? We gotcha..."

Yokas was concurrently talking, doing her best to soothe her frantic partner, "Bosco, please! Please... It's okay, it's okay... Please..."

His mouth was too dry to speak, so Matt just did his best to hold Boscorelli's head in the same position, hoping to continue to aid in the officer's breathing. _God, I did this... I was too late..._ He couldn't stop the intense feelings of guilt and remorse that tore at him sadistically, and he struggled not to vomit. _I was too late_.

Boscorelli finally stopped thrashing around, but only after Sam and Yokas had literally pinned down everything that could move. Matt's partner was practically kneeling on the seizing officer, straining to keep the man's body from injuring itself further. 

"It's okay, we gotcha," Sam continued murmuring as the violent paroxysm subsided and the room was once again still, bar the gasps that remained a constant reminder of the officer's plight and intrepid fight to remain alive. "It's okay, buddy..."

"His name is Bosco..." Yokas whispered, her voice perceptibly hoarse from crying. 

"Bosco?" Sam reiterated, and then he turned once again to Yokas' fading partner. "Hey, Bosco, you're goin' to be okay, alright? You just hold on. Medics are almost here..."

As if Fate had heard him, footsteps could be heard from the stairwell, swelling in sound as they rapidly grew closer. "Oh, thank God..." Yokas breathed.

"Paramedics!" a voice loudly sounded out, but almost hesitantly, as if the life-saving medics were wondering if they should enter the darkness of the apartment. 

"Back here!" Sam shouted. "Hurry!"

**********

Doc stopped suddenly and Carlos slammed right into him, nearly knocking the man over. 

"What?" he asked cautiously, trying to peer around his partner to see what had caused him to halt so abruptly. What he saw didn't shock him, but definitely instilled the uneasiness that was making his heart race.

The door to the apartment in question had been kicked in and just about shattered, the force of the entry evident by the splinters of wood that littered the floor. But the door was nothing -- they'd seen the same thing a thousand times before. No, it was the dark, baleful, hole of an apartment that they were expected to enter. Menacing and ominous shadows skirted along the walls, and they couldn't see more than three feet inside the door. _Shit... What if that serial killer guy is in there? Oh, shit..._

"Should we just go in?" Carlos hissed softly, nudging Doc in the back. _Please say no. Say we need to wait for the police..._

Doc promptly snapped back into business-mode and hollered out, "Paramedics!" as loud as possible.

_Yeah, Doc, that'll scare the serial killer away..._ Carlos thought cynically. 

Immediately following the noisy bellow, someone called out from inside the black hole-like residence, "Back here! Hurry!"

Doc grabbed his flashlight and flipped it on, "Okay! We're comin'..."

Young Carlos, thoroughly scared now, hesitantly followed as his partner rushed into the darkness, searching for where the voice had pervaded. _Shit... this is_so_ not good. What if he's back there waiting to off us? _

He didn't have much time to ponder this before Doc had lead him through a back room to stand in the doorway to a bathroom. Carlos felt his heart drop and his nerves jump as the bright beam of Doc's flashlight surveyed the damage. 

It was like something he'd seen in a horror movie once. Blood and guts everywhere... Well, not the guts, but there was enough blood for two horror movies spattered every which way. _Whoa..._

He felt sick when he heard Doc shockingly utter, "Bosco?"

**********

Faith felt herself sigh in relief as a familiar voice announced the arrival of the paramedics. It was Doc. Doc could save Bosco... 

"Oh, thank God..." she whispered.

Sam's head snapped up and a grateful smile played on his lips, displaying the intensity of his own relief. "Back here! Hurry!" he called out, nodding at her reassuringly. He needn't have said anything more, because the kind and understanding look in his glance was exactly what she needed. 

The medics appeared in the doorway in no time, shining a flashlight this way and that, as if appraising the destruction that filled the room with the sickening smell of blood and the pained gasps of attempted breaths. 

Momentarily blinded by the flashlight, Faith blinked at the still, stunned forms, waiting for them to move, to save her partner.

"Bosco?" Doc articulated softly, looking right at Faith with a horrified look of disbelief on his face. 

Carlos had something as equally pertinent to say. "God..." he hissed, frowning at the three that were currently doing all of the life-saving. "Holy shit..."

Fortunately, they didn't waste any more precious time with dumb remarks and rhetorical questions that were no doubt produced from shock and revulsion. Doc slid to the floor, ripping open the Velcro straps that held the meds bag together with one hand, and pressing his fingers to Bosco's neck with the other. "Okay, we got a pulse... weak and thready!"

Carlos started to move towards the murderer's corpse, but Matt's soft drawl stopped him, "Dead." He nodded at the body, "He's the killer."

The small fact was enough to make Carlos jump back and stare at the stiff in shock. 'Damn..." he whispered as he changed his attention to Bosco.

"Help him, please..." Faith begged them, still crying.

Doc ripped her partner's shirt down the middle, skillfully disregarding the fabric as he counted the feeble beats of the officer's heart. "Pulse 40, BP 50 palp... He's havin' trouble breathin'! Let's get him bagged."

Carlos had thought ahead and was already fixing the blue cup of the ambu-bag over Bosco's nose and mouth. "Gotcha."

Faith then backed off a bit, her hand slipping into Bosco's limp one and squeezing it as she struggled to make sense of the medical terminology that Doc and Carlos were rapidly relaying back and forth. It didn't sound good at all, but she was certain that they knew what they were doing, and she let them work. 

She glanced down at her partner and noticed that he had begun to sweat again, but he showed no other signs of being alert. She placed her hand protectively on his forehead and winced when she felt the warmth emanating from his body. Fever. His body was putting up all the shots; using every measure that it possibly could to rid itself of infection. _God, help him pull through this..._

"Okay, we need 'ta get him on the board and get him outta here," Doc's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. "Ready? On my count. One, two, three."

The four men each had a hand in lifting Bosco's lifeless body onto the backboard, and as soon as he was placed atop the board, Carlos and Doc strapped him in, fastening him down tightly.

"Alright, let's go."

**********

Matt slid his hands under Boscorelli's shoulder, trying to help in any way. This was, after all, mostly his fault. Guilt had been replaced by a sinking feeling of despair, racking his body with weighty responsibility. _I'm so sorry_, he mentally apologized to Boscorelli as he eased his limp body onto the board. _So sorry... _

From the looks on both of the medic's faces, he wasn't sure if the officer would even make it to the waiting bus, and the thought made him want to shoot himself for not figuring out the killer earlier.

"Alright, let's go," said the one called Doc as he grabbed one of the handles that were evenly spaced along the plastic stretcher and continued to squeeze away at the air pump with his other hand. Matt, Sam, and the younger paramedic who's name Matt hadn't caught yet, all picked up the backboard and hurriedly made their way out the door, making a rush for the ambulance that waited below. 

Yokas followed closely behind and her soft sobs were heard the entire way down to the bus. Somehow her crying was comforting, as if someone needed to be emotional to make things not feel so...mechanical. 

Sam and Matt stayed behind as the ambulance was loaded and screamed off, knowing that their job had just begun and the horrific crime scene four floors above was in need of immediate attention. 

It was only when they had gotten back to the lonely, devastated apartment that the gravity of what had just happened fully hit the young man. He stood in the hall outside the apartment, the sickening smell of blood that had seeped all the way into the cold corridor chilling him to the bone. He felt his breaths becoming sharp and short, and his stomach turned ferociously. He leaned over and vomited; guilt-ridden, retching spasms tearing though his body as he heaved over and over. 

After his stomach had calmed, he gave in, sliding against the wall to the floor as he pushed his fingers through his thick hair and cried. His sobs of grief combined with the stressful shock of the evening felt right, and he let himself go, knowing full-well that he was making a fool of himself. Crying over guilt -- in front of his partner, no less. 

But then he felt a comforting arm slip around his shoulders supportively, and heard Sam's own remorse-ridden voice choke out, "It's okay, kid..."

********** 

The back of the ambulance was a flurry of activity and Faith's tear-filled, blurry eyes didn't even attempt to understand what was going on. She kept her gaze riveted on either her partner's face, the EKG monitor, or the road ahead, mentally calculating how much longer the insufferable ride from hell would continue. The roads stretched on forever, but truthfully they had to only travel a mere three miles to reach the security of the hospital. 

If Bosco made it through this, he would have to move closer to the hospital. 

Carlos drove, leaving the more skilled and experienced Doc to keep her partner alive. The veteran paramedic's hands literally flew from the machines that littered the bus to the IV drip to Bosco's body, and everywhere in between as he put out his best efforts to save him.

His calls to Mercy were disturbing at best, and Faith struggled not to listen to the frantic medical jargon that spewed form his lips like a death warrant. Instead, she focused on keeping her hand within her partner's and sending the occasional prayer to the Almighty. 

_God, I swear, if you get him though this... He doesn't deserve this... Please. I'm begging you. I'll do anything. Anything..._

But the only answer she received was the extremely slow, but steady, beeping of the heart monitor. 

It was good enough for now...

********** 

Carlos listened absorbedly as he heard Doc call in to Mercy with the critical details of the officer that he was attempting to keep alive. As he drove, Doc's earlier words echoed though his head, and he instantly felt ashamed for the fit he'd throw that night over working a double. Hell, Bosco was dying in the back and he'd complained about having to work a few more hours... 

_ "Maybe we do something good tonight for someone - save someone's life maybe. Isn't that worth a few hours of sleep?" _

Apparently it was.

**********

The quiet normalcy of the midnight hour was shattered by the loud shouts from the herd of scrub-clad doctors and nurses as they escorted the gurney into a trauma room. Bright red blood had dripped along the route they had traveled, leaving a sinister trail from the doors of the ER to the glassed-in area that they now occupied. The feverish amount of activity was dizzying to even an accustomed eye, and the amount of noise generated by the people inside was nearly intolerable. 

"Airway looks clear, but breath sounds aren't good! Pulmonary edema, no response to command..." 

"GCS, seven."

Dr. Bradford, the attending physician, shook his head at this and quickly barked, "Let's turn him over, I need to get a look at those wounds."

"One, two, three!" somebody shouted quickly as hands reached and positioned themselves under the officer's side. In a second, his lifeless body was skillfully lifted and turned, exposing the two knife wounds to the elder doctor's trained eye. 

"Two stab wounds to the left flank. First one is at L-2, four centimeters off the midline... and the second one is L-5 in the midscapular line. Okay, turn him back." 

"Did he hit the spinal cord?" another doctor asked.

"Depends on the angle," he answered distractedly as his patient was lowered once again. He noted the amount of blood that had already pooled on the gurney and grimaced. 

"BP's 40 palp, pulse ox 70!" Proctor, the head RN, announced as she anxiously fiddled with several large pieces of equipment, hooking up this and that. 

"Yep, that's why we're tubing him. Squeeze in two liters of saline and set me up for a Subclavian..."

His order was immediately filled as nurses and a few residents scrambled to fix the correct machinery and devices to the officer's bloodied body.

"Hang two on the rapid infuser and send a trauma panel, CBC, type and cross for six. Get X-ray in here for a chest, and one shot of I.V.P!" Bradford yelled to an older nurse as she exited the room in search of more tubing. He turned back to the officer, and focused on intubating him before his blood pressure dropped even further. 

"Subclavian's in - run in two units!"

"He's hypotensive," warned Procter, noting their patient's dangerously low blood pressure.

"I know, I know! Let me get this damn tube in..." 

He struggled for a moment with the metal tool that he'd inserted in the officer's mouth to guide the ventilator tube in, and sighed in relief when it finally slid into place. "Start him on oxygen."

"First crit's 31. Pressure's up, 60 palp."

"Run a foley NOW!" the doctor instantly thundered, obviously alarmed at the relay. 

"Okay, his toes are down-going -- that means no spinal injury. Hang those two units on the infuser," the younger doctor ordered when he'd checked reflexes and was satisfied that no damage had been done to the spinal cord. 

"Where the HELL is that foley?"

"I'm working on it!" a nurse shouted, clearly frustrated. 

"Second unit is in."

"Give a gram of Cefotetan."

"BP's 80 palp," Proctor called out, encouraging the frenzied doctors and nurses with the moderately good news. 

"Okay, foley's in!"

"Doctor Bradford...?" a nurse asked hesitantly, holding up the foley bag. It was rapidly filling with blood.

"Get the surgeon - he needs to go up now! He's got a bad renal lac. Possibly one of the stomach as well."

"His crit's falling! You want F.F.P?"

"Yeah, two units." 

A surgeon plowed though the crowd, took a long look at the man that lies motionless on the gurney, and turned to the senior doctor, "What do we have?" 

"He's hypotensive with a renal laceration - we're redlining him to the OR."

"Good, good. I'll scrub up. I want him ready to go in five minutes," he said as he hastily exited the room on his way to the OR.

"Right. I'll do my best," replied Bradford.

"Doctor," one of the residents called out, "belly's full of blood - probably got the spleen. He's bradying down!"

"Dammit," he hissed. "Let's get him up and out of here!"

Machines suddenly rang out, shrieking as the heart they'd so carefully monitored finally gave out.

"V-fib!" 

"Dammit! Get a crash cart in here and charge to 250!"

In seconds, large metal paddles were placed into the doctor's waiting hands, and the defibrillator charged. A nurse grabbed a four-by-four and quickly mopped up the blood that covered the man's chest.

"Clear!" 

The crowd took a collective step back, each person raising their hands in the air so as to not be shocked as well. The officer's body jumped a few inches off the gurney as his heart was forcefully assaulted with electricity, then slammed back onto the table, motionless once more. 

"V-fib."

"Give me 300 and push an amp of Epi."

Adrenaline was shot into the officer's IV and the room full of people quickly made use of the added help, stepping back even before Bradford's voice rang out again. "Clear!" 

The body jolted voilently once more, but this time his extremities were seemingly limper then before -- if that was at all possible. The EKG monitor shrieked loudly as he flat-lined again, ringing in the horrible sound of death. 

"Com'on..." the doctor murmured harshly, obviously frustrated at how their measures were failing miserably. "Charge to 350..." he said flatly as he rearranged his grip on the life-saving devise. 

A young resident shot him a worried frown. "Are you sure? 'Cause he's not a big guy..." 

"Just do it!"

"Right, okay, okay..."

The defibrillator beeped its readiness, and the doctor didn't hesitate, "Clear!"

The room fell silent as the crowd held a collective breath, waiting for the results. 

**********

TBC... Hit me up with a review and make my day! **:)**

. 


	26. Chapter TwentySix

Chain of Darkness

Chapter Twenty-Six--

A/N: First of all, I would like to say this to the reviewers that pointed out my accidental faux pas: In my first draft, I had included some medical jargon from one of my other favorite shows - ER. I **did** have it credited. But alas, in the process of cutting and pasting it was lost along with some personal thank-yous. Instead of fixing this however, I decided to just let you all know in this chapter that I had borrowed some terminology from another show. I was, by no means, trying to pull one over on anyone. I'm sorry, but I am not a doctor and do not have the time or resources to research the correct terms. All of the medical jargon in this chapter is entirely mine, written using the few terms that I do know; so don't bother checking it against another episode. It is not meant to be 100% correct, but is only used to enhance the story. I did the best that I could. Just remember, all: fanfic is supposed to be fun - please don't take things too seriously. 

I would like to give an extra warm thank-you to Stella, Joey, Sandra, Me (you know who you are), Lynn, Angy and Crazy4JnJ. You guys have been so awesome, and I cannot thank you enough!

To everyone else: I am utterly flattered that you approve of my work and hope you continue to take pleasure in reading it!

**********

He blinked, unconsciously hoping that perhaps the millisecond of darkness would erase the horrible sight that played out before his eyes like a barbarous stage show. He wished nothing more then to free himself from the gripping display and rid his hands from the drying blood that stiffened his palms and fingers as it encrusted his skin, but found himself rooted to the floor, unable to move.

Soft sobs and cries made their way into his immediate hearing, but the noises radiating from the trauma room overwhelmed them, smothering out anything and everything that interfered the sounds that he so desperately struggled to hear and comprehend. The loud shouts of the doctors as they diagnosed, the nurses frantically calling out vitals, and the erratic beeping of the EKG monitor filled his ears, becoming louder and louder until they reached a deafening climax, a screeching crescendo of shrill sound.

_V-fib_.

His erudite brain automatically recognized the shriek and reminded him instantly what the treacherous resonance meant. Words from his med school textbook echoed throughout his head, tormenting him with the terrible realism of the situation. _ "Ventricular fibrillation is a pulseless arrhythmia in which the heart immediately loses its ability to function as a pump." _

He'd lost a few patients due to the irregular arrhythmia, and his heart sank at the thought. The next few minutes were crucial, and if the right measures were not taken and/or the body refused to respond, Bosco could be dead within a half hour.

Doc found himself holding his breath as he silently begged his friend to hold on.

_Com'on, Bosco... You gotta fight this, man... FIGHT dammit! _

********** 

The disarray of the once-sterile trauma room completely disregarded all laws of nature, painting a picture that only a horrendous act from man could have consummated. The image was like that of a sadistic horror movie, immorally bloody and erroneous - something Dr. Kevorkian would have deemed worthy. In spite of the madness that had rudely disrupted the midnight calm just minutes ago, all was still - waiting. The tranquil hush that settled the room into an awkward silence was deceivingly loud.

The bright blue of hospital scrubs clashed with the crimson blood spattered across them, the white of clean, latex gloves lost under a thick, even coating of the fluid. Soaked four-by-fours littered the industrial-grade linoleum floors, spotting the ground like a perverted case of chicken pox. Three or four empty saline bags had been carelessly tossed on a metal tray, along with surgical clamps clutching blood-saturated sponges and hastily drained syringes. 

Twelve pairs of eyes were anxiously glued to the EKG monitor, twelve sets of ears yearning to hear the musical beeping of a normal rhythm, yet simultaneously dreading the shrieking wail of V-fib or deadly asystole. The last electrical jolt that had been administered had yet to sound its results. 

The officer that held their full attention was one of many that had entered the ER in the recent weeks, but each being either tragically DOA, or barely alive. They had done their best with every fallen officer, but the killer had done his job well, leaving six corpses and a comatose patient in his wake. These morbidly true facts kept their resolve strong, pushing the practiced team to use every technique and remedy possible to keep the young man alive. They couldn't and refused to lose another. It would not happen again. They would literally fight to the death. 

Dr. Bradford stood stoically, a frustrated frown on his tired face, reflecting the collective sentiment that nobody else in the room took the precious time to show. Thoughts and ideas raged madly inside his head as he tried to think, tried to formulate a hasty plan in case their efforts continued to fail miserably.

A low murmur could be heard, startling some as the unexpected voice urgently prompted, "Com'on...com'on..."

Seconds dragged on into short eternities, eons and eons seeming to pass leisurely as the circle of anxious personnel watched and waited, each silently imploring the man's heart to regain enough strength to begin pumping once more. 

Again, the shrill shriek. 

"V-fib." 

"Push a bolus of Amiodarone and charge to--"

Soft, melodic beeping suddenly filled the room, sluggish and uneven -- but a heartbeat no less. Enough of a good sign to light nervous smiles on a few lips. 

"Sinus tach!" somebody yelled out unnecessarily. "He's back!"

Dr. Bradford took a relieved step backwards, exhaling the deep breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding, his experienced eyes scanning the EKG machine's digital readout. He obviously wasn't happy with the results. 

"Sinus tach, yes - but he's throwing PVC's! Forget the Amiodarone - give him 1.5 mgs of Lidocaine and hang two more units on the infuser. He still has pulmonary edema... I want chest tubes run bilaterally, and up his oxygen to 100 percent. We need to get him stabilized and upstairs ASAP!"

"You want type specific?" 

"Right now whatever we've got, but I want eight of type specific sent up with him and that foley changed out quickly. The rest of you, prep him for a laparotomy." 

The team worked frantically on and around the officer, valiantly trying get him to the OR before it was too late. Two residents inserted thin, plastic tubes into his chest, rapidly draining off the fluid that had collected in his weakened lungs. Bags of vital donor blood were quickly infused into the lifeless body as his shredded side was smeared with dark-brown iodine, sterilizing the 'field' so the waiting surgeon would have one less thing to do. 

"How many units have we given him?" Bradford inquired.

"Six," Proctor answered flatly, shaking her head.

"Okay, alright..." he sighed, once again racking his brain for answers. "How many large-bores do we have running?"

"Two, wide open. Pressure's 80 systolic."

"Temp?" 

"102.5."

"Not good... must be getting an infection. Watch that closely and give another mg of Lidocaine in three minutes." 

"You got it. We're having a hard time keeping his pressure up, though..."

"Yeah, I anticipated that - there's too much bleeding. It's probably not going to budge until he gets into surgery..." his voice trailed off in sort of a discouraged miasma, but then his tone changed abruptly to an urgent shout as he snapped into action. "He needs to go now, alright? Let's hurry it up people!" 

The commotion in the room intensified to a dizzying speed as the team battled Fate and Time, their greatest foes. It was a race against Time, a strategic game to outplay Fate. The winner would take all and claim the young officer's life as a prize, and Dr. Bradford wasn't about to lose.

"He's ready!" Proctor announced a few moments later, unplugging several cords to aid in the swift departure of the gurney. 

"Okay, good - let's get him upstairs."

**********

She stood, only a mere twenty feet away, her trembling hands covering her mouth as she attempted to stifle her relentless, hysterical cries. Tears of shock and dismay ran silently down her cheeks as she watched the frantic uproar that lit the trauma room with panicked shouts and harried movements. 

The room milled with confusion, hands and bodies whirling from task to task at alarming speed as the doctors and nurses fought to keep her partner alive. Tubes, bags, and bloodied rags were tossed around from person to person, used here and there, and then unceremoniously discarded. Blood seemed to have had a hand in varnishing everything and everyone with a crimson tinge. 

Faith could barely see his body though the din, but her stricken, tear-filled eyes saw enough to instill the feeling of dread that burned her throat. He was completely limp. Unmoving. Lifeless. Dead?

Her quivering lips bit back another sob as her mind fought to assure her that Bosco was still living. He wasn't dead... He couldn't be dead. God would not be so cruel... would he?

A piercing shriek cut through the concentrated tension that filled the ER, wailing and screaming as her partner's heart gave out, his weak and weary body finally calling it quits. 

_Bosco! No! Oh, God, no..._

She could hear the frantic calls of the doctors as they vaulted into an even faster pace, making her vision swim as her eyes strained to keep up. Unconsciously, she felt herself moving towards the glass doors, her body charging forward as her very soul arrested. Ruthless feelings of absolute surrealism flooded her body like a rush of warm water, drowning out every sound and sensation as it took her senses over completely. Closer and closer she floated, her eyes begging to close out the horrific sight. 

_Please...please...no...._

"Faith..." 

Doc's arm stopped her, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her back, away from the frenzied shouts. She struggled, trying to be free of his firm but gentle grasp, lunging towards her partner with the inclination to save him herself. The doctors obviously weren't doing a good enough job...

"Faith! Faith, easy... It's okay," Doc murmured as he turned her shuddering body away from the dire, calamitous scene, twisting her around until she faced him. His tone was kind but strong, the look in his dark eyes one of pure empathy and trepidation. "Everything's gonna be okay. Trust me. The doctors gotta work, they gotta have room. You need to stay out here and wait, okay?"

"Nooo..." she sobbed, "H-he's...gonna...die."

He took her quivering chin in his hand, gently lifting her head until she raised her tearing eyes from the floor. 

"Look at me. Everything's gonna be okay. Bosco's a fighter. He's gonna be alrigh--"

Another loud shriek interrupted him, sending a violent shiver through her body as her knees buckled underneath her. Doc was prepared for this, fortunately, and he quickly caught her up in his arms before she crumbled to a heap on the floor. 

"Oh, God..." she sobbed against his shoulder as she clutched him in a terrified death-grip. "God...please..." 

"Com'on, Faith - you don't need 'ta see this..." Doc murmured as he pulled her away, half-carrying her out of the noisy hall and into a small room of some sort. She barely felt herself moving, her hear wrenching violently and a part of her dying as the shriek continued to ring out. 

The stark quiet of the room differed from the shouts and mechanical screams so much that it made her ears ring. She sank to the floor, sobbing as she struggled not to hyperventilate. 

Her partner was dead. He was gone. Bosco was dead. She would never see him again. He was gone... 

Doc squatted down next to her, rubbing her shoulder with a warm, consoling hand, trying to comfort her. But his efforts were lost amongst the overwhelming anguish and grief that washed over her as a wave of sickening despair. Her heart literally ached for her partner, silently lamenting its own stricken sorrow. 

_I'm sorry, Bosco... I'm so sorry... I tried...I'm so sorry_.

**********

He'd never seen anything like this. 

Okay, maybe he had once or twice... but this time it was worse somehow. It was bloodier, gorier, more chaotic... more personal. He'd worked as a paramedic for years, seen his fair share of graphic wounds, but none had made him feel sick. Not like this at least.

Perhaps the sudden nausea had to do with how incredibly tired he was, or maybe he was still feeing guilty about the fit he'd thrown earlier that night, or it could have been the fact that Bosco's partner was sobbing in grief not two feet away from him, but it was there nonetheless, strong and bittersweet in his throat.

His eyes parted from their fixated gaze, pausing only to glance at Faith, who was nearly beside herself as she watched the tragic drama unfold in front of them. He winced at the blood that still covered her hands and clothing. Oh, that's just wrong...

Doc stood stoically not two feet away from her, his fists clenched perfunctorily at his sides, the muscles and tendons in his hands nearly bulging from pressure. His deep brown eyes flew from Faith to the spectacle before them, uncertainty strongly showing in his fleeting gazes. His mouth hung slightly agape, parted lips implying the amount of dread and shock that was settling in on his partner. Just the sight of his mentor's own repulsion made Carlos feel sicker 

The commotion within the glass doors once again caught his eye, and he paid close attention to every movement. The doctors and nurses of the night shift were clearly trying their best to resuscitate the body that lay limp on the gurney before them, doing what appeared to be their darnedest to revive the man from the ventricular fibrillation that loudly threatened to end his life, refusing to give up or be disheartened at all. Over and over they shocked the officer, and his rapt eyes never lost count. 

Once... Twice...

Faith then lost it, but Doc caught her up in his arms, showing the deep compassion and strength that Carlos had respected for years. His veteran partner quickly ushered her out of the hall and into an adjoining lounge, wisely pulling her away from the sight of her partner's death. 

On a normal day he'd have helped Doc, but he found himself just watching numbly as the whole drama unfolded - unable to move from pure shock and fatigue, it seemed. 

The doctor gripped the paddles and once again shot a jolt of electricity into Bosco's chest. The eerie thumping sound of the lifeless body's response pealed around the room. He felt himself involuntarily cringe and wince. 

Ouch - that was three times now.

_Aw, man..._

He found himself leaning forward as he strained to hear the product of the latest surge of current, clenching his fingers so tightly that they burned. He'd defibrillated many a patient before, and knew that the longer the doctors had to keep trying to restart Bosco's heart, the worse chances they'd have of actually getting him back.

_Com'on...com'on..._

That damn shriek again. 

_Shit. _

He closed his eyes, knowing exactly what drugs they would be pumping into the officer's veins, what the doctor was going to shout out before he'd even uttered a word. And he was right; the doctor prescribed the drug of choice and then called for them to charge the defibrillator to...

The damn shriek was suddenly replaced by what he'd been waiting to hear - what they'd all been waiting for: something, anything. 

It wasn't much, an erratic heartbeat that was far too weak and unstable for his liking... but hey, it was a start. 

He let out an unexpectedly heavy sigh, dark eyes closing once again, but this time in grateful relief. 

_Thank God_.

**********

Footsteps echoed faintly off of the blood-drenched floors, creating an eerie, haunting ambiance in the abandoned apartment. Lights had been turned on to aid sight, and only added to the sinister atmosphere by casting dark shadows around the rooms like ghosts of the night. 

Sam licked his dry lips as he paced the hall outside the devastation, his eyes flitting to peer into the depths of the destroyed bathroom every once and a while, only to be rewarded each time by the unfortunately familiar, grisly images. 

Stopping for a second from his mechanical stride, he glared at the crumpled body of the killer. Blood from the explosive chest wound he'd received had mixed with his victims, creating the sticky, syrupy mess that coated the floor evenly. The blood wasn't what had caught his attention though, but the sadistic expression that had froze on the man's malevolent features. An impious smile warped his lips, and Sam felt his body involuntarily shudder in repulsion as he realized this. 

_What a sick, sick, bastard..._

He started somewhat when he heard the floorboards creek behind him, and turned his head towards the sudden sound. 

Matt appeared from the shadows, looking quite disturbed and disheveled as he slowly walked to stand beside him. His eyes held a raw, haunted look of pure culpability and consternation, the usual sparkle of his young, fresh fervor replaced by a dark, ominous guilt. His hair -always a little disorderly- had been raked into a twisted, blond mess, nearly standing on end and giving the young detective a 'just-rolled-out-of-bed' look. 

"You okay?" Sam asked, watching his friend closely.

Matt just looked away, disregarding the question. He cleared his throat, but the effort didn't mask the unevenness of his voice. "The CSI's here - just saw them drive up. Coroner too."

"Good, I don't want to baby-sit this mess anymore."

Sam sighed as eyes traveled once again to the corpse that was strewn across the floor, wishing away the dread that suddenly welled up in his throat. Even though the case appeared to be closed, he had a niggling feeling that something was missing - or rather that they had missed something.

_God, I hope not..._

**********

Dr. Bradford stepped back, letting the elevator doors closed him in. He leaned against the cold, metal railing that lined the walls, closing his eyes for a moment as he relished the calm after the storm. His job was done, but the surgeon's had just begun - and judging from what he'd seen of the wounded officer, the operating room staff were in for a long night. 

Beside him, Mary Proctor slowly stripped her hands of her bloodied latex gloves, turning them inside-out and wadding them into a tight ball. She and three residents had joined him in the race upstairs, and now accompanied him back to the ER, all of them nearly breathless from exertion and horror, silent in obvious shock and concern for Officer Boscorelli's life.

"You think he's going to make it?" Mary asked softly, voicing what everyone else in the elevator had yet to. 

Bradford exhaled deeply, shaking his head. "I don't know, Mary. He's in pretty bad shape... But I think we might have gotten him through the worst. Let's just hope he doesn't crash again on the table...or they might lose him." 

The elevator was still once more, silenced by the despondency that enveloped the small space. They had put up their best efforts to get him this far, and now it was the officer's turn to fight. The ball was in his court. 

**********

He sat back on his haunches, his arm still around Faith's shoulder but starting to become numb from the lengthy span of time he'd spent in the same position. Minutes had passed, maybe nearly a half-hour - he'd lost all track of time. 

The room in which they sat huddled against a wall, was deafeningly silent, the thick door advantageously masking whatever was happening on the other side. His thoughts had turned south when he'd gotten into the small room, his learned mind telling him that the outlook for his friend was undoubtedly bleak. 

He grimaced slightly, suddenly realizing that he had taken Faith away from the dire display partly for his own benefit. He didn't want to witness the horrific scene any more than she did, and had brought her in there to get away from the devastating tragedy of sights and sounds. Selfish, that's what it was. But he'd done it, and did not regret it. He wouldn't have lasted much longer just waiting and watching. 

The door creaked open softly and Carlos stuck his head in, his eyes displaying an odd emotion that Doc couldn't read. Could it be the knowledge of death that was lit in his brooding eyes? Or perhaps it was a rare sighting of sympathy...

"Uh, guys...? They, um...they got him back."

The words slammed into his chest, relieving the tight pressure that had suddenly surged in. _Oh, thank God..._

"They just took him upstairs. They're gonna operate."

********** 

Grief. She was aware of nothing else. Her heart had broken in two, a part of her gone along with her partner. Even though she wasn't sure if he even was dead... she'd seen enough to deduce his ending. There was no way that he would survive; even her medically uneducated mind knew that. Blood-loss coupled with the severity of his wounds could only mean one thing: Certain death.

A thin wisp of hope kept her from being completely disconsolate, though - pulling her gently from the bottomless depths of despair. It wasn't enough, however, to keep her from breaking down. Tears of frustration, anguish, loneliness and misery sobbed though her trembling form, catching harshly in her throat as a massive lump as she fought to keep even a few pieces of her mind and body together. 

_Oh, Bosco... You didn't deserve this...you didn't... Not this..._

The soft sound of a door opening disturbed the absolute stillness that gripped the room, forgoing the inclusive quiet that was strangely comforting and simultaneously disconcerting.

She didn't move to look though, instead bracing herself for the sudden onslaught of dreadful news that was sure to come. They would say that they were sorry, say that they tried everything, but he was too far-gone. This would only remind her that she had indeed left her partner off at his apartment alone, returned too late, and hadn't done enough to help him. Guilt quickly replaced the smothering grief. 

But the voice that spoke wasn't a bearer of bad tidings, a messenger of death. It was the clear, yet troubled voice of an unusually soft-spoken Carlos that clashed into her consciousness.

"Uh, guys...? They, um...they got him back."

For the first time in hours she felt the sweet sensation of reprieve wash over her, breaking though the guilt and grief that had wrapped her body tightly. Her limbs quickly turned into jello, the uptight tension melting away, relaxing rapidly as she struggled to grasp the words that her ears had just received. 

_He isn't...dead? He's alive? How...?_

Disbelief filled her chest as a crushing panic. Was this a cruel joke? Was her mind fabricating this...this obvious lie to ease and reassure her discombobulated body? 

Her eyes begged to open and see if there was indeed a form to the voice - to find out if in her overpowering grief she had purely invented it. 

She blinked, foggy vision smudging the shadow that filled the doorway. A second passed as she sat in complete shock, skeptical about what she was seeing, yet assuring herself that the silhouette it was undeniably factual, not contrived from a brutal trick of her strained and weary psyche. 

It had to be true. She couldn't be dreaming. That _was_ Carlos standing before her, was it not?

"They just took him upstairs. They're gonna operate," he told them matter-of-factly.

Now she was positive, though the truth was entirely too hard to comprehend. She felt Doc squeeze her shoulder, the kind contact sending shivers of hope and comfort ricocheting down her spine. 

_My God...it's true... He's not dead. _

She was vaguely aware of the sound that permeated her lips, a soft, thankful sob of relief. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she sent up an unvoiced thank-you to the Man upstairs. 

_I owe you one. _

********** 

The headache had slowly made its way from the back of his head into the tender tissue behind his eyes, radiating pounding pain though his temples like small daggers. It was one of the few things that made the last few hours seem real, overriding the surrealistic sensation that came with the unbelievably unusual events that had taken over the night. 

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger; a small measure that he hoped would alleviate some of the pressure thundering in his skull. But it was to no avail - the relentless throbbing persisted, causing him to wince slightly as he opened his bleary eyes. 

In his extreme exhaustion, he'd half-expected to find himself back in that gore-filled apartment, but instead was blessed with the familiarity of Sam's car. The smells were all wrong though - the black leather reeked of salty blood and the pungent scent of gunpowder radiated from the air freshener that dangled unceremoniously from the rearview mirror.

He knew his somnolent mind was fabricating this and he shook his head, begging the lingering aromas to leave him alone, but they remained, reminding him of...well, everything. 

_I need sleep...bad. _

"We're here," Sam announced their arrival as he pulled into one of the parking spots allotted for the cities police force. The sign that lit the ER parking lot blared out an uncomforting phrase: Angel of Mercy Hospital. 

_Angel of Mercy, my ass. There'd have to be one hell of a merciful angel to save Officer Boscorelli. _

"Yeah," he muttered to his partner, dreading their entrance. There would be, no doubt, a hoard of questions awaiting them, along with the pitiful tears of his cheated partner. The doctors, the Chief, and poor Yokas would all want to know one thing: Why. 

Why they hadn't figured the case out in time, why they'd been ten minutes too late, why another officer had to die... 

Truth be told, he had no idea why. He'd done his darndest to figure out the killer, and had succeeded, but again - he was too late. It had just played out that way, a cruel act from a merciless Fate. She had to be laughing up there - her and her equally nasty friend, Time. They had done this... God would never be so malicious.

The frigid early-morning air battered him as they ambled slowly towards the front doors, cutting into his cheeks and beating in a fresh dose of depression as it chilled his very core. The ramifications of the unplanned night of terror ripped into every muscle, reminding him of what he now had to do: Explain all of this...mess, and how and why it had been allowed to happen. 

_Oh, please...I don't want to do this..._

But once inside, he was slightly taken aback to find the waiting area vacant, save the Chief and Lieutenant Swersky. He frowned, as he'd expected a multitude of eyes to glare at him when he'd entered, all disappointed, upset, and wanting answers. 

This was a welcome surprise. 

"Harrison, Taylor," the Chief nodded at them. "You want to tell me what happened tonight?"

Sam spoke first, relieving the responsibility of a reply from his young partner. "You want the long or the short version?"

The Chief shrugged, shaking his head. "We've got all night, boys."

***********

Three hours, twenty-seven minutes and twelve...now, thirteen seconds. That's how long she'd sat in that very room, waiting. 

The walls all ran together now, blending seamlessly and creating the illusion of a cage. She knew she could leave at any time, get up and get a cup of coffee perhaps, or use the washroom to take care of the remaining blood that had dried and caked under her fingernails, but the cage-like room provided a strange sense of solace. 

So she sat, hours and hours ticking by causally as if there wasn't a care in the world, time seeming to crawl with unnecessary slowness. Any minute now a doctor could come strolling in, announcing the results of the lengthy surgery, and there was no way in hell that she could move from her spot - she would be there for her partner, whether the news be good or bad.

Hours ago, Mary Proctor had come by and told her the details of his injuries, how severe they were and how the doctors and nurses of the ER had done their best to keep Bosco alive. Her kind and gentle voice was well received, exactly what Faith needed. She knew that her partner was literally at Death's door with one foot in the grave, but Mary's understanding honesty and compassion had eased her troubled mind considerably.

Doc had stayed with her and was still there, slumped down into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, his face as solemn as it had ever been. 

"Officer?"

The sudden word startled her, snapping her eyes immediately from their downward gaze. There was a doctor standing in the doorway, his scrubs soaked in sweat and spattered here and there with the brown of dried fluids. His face was somber, not expressing any emotion. 

Doc sat up a little straighter in his chair, leaning forward as he waited for the doctor to continue.

"The operation went well..." 

********** 

"What?!"

He was incredulous, not because he didn't believe that it could have happened, but rather that it actually did.

Running into the Chief of Police in the corridors of the vast hospital had been surprise enough, but the abysmal news had totally caught him off-guard. 

He'd gotten Bosco? The killer had struck down one of the toughest cops at the precinct? The expression on his face must have only amplified his obvious disbelief and concern, and the Chief nodded his head and reiterated the truthful nature of his information. 

"It's true, Sullivan. He's up in the ICU as we speak."

He shook his head in wonderment, reaching up unconsciously to scratch the back of his head, a gesture he only committed when he was disturbed or perplexed. "I... How's he doin'?"

"He's probably going to be okay... The guy did a pretty good number on him, I'm afraid." 

"Probably?"

"Well, there's always a chance of infection, that sorta thing. How's your own partner, by the way?"

"Davis? He woke up this morning. The doc says he'll be fine..." he stated flatly, more interested in the health of another fallen friend. Davis would make a full recovery, but Bosco? "I just...I can't believe it..."

"I know, but we got the sick bastard. Yokas shot the hell out of him."

"Good God..."

"Yeah," the Chief agreed, patting the dubious Sully on the back. "That's what I said."

***********

Her breath had been stolen from her, taken swiftly away by an unseen force. All airflow stopped at her lips, refusing to pass and continue down into her lungs. She felt herself waver slightly and grabbed onto the wooden frame of the door, her knees unable to support her weight fully. 

The sight was shocking. 

There were so many tubes and wires, all connecting to a different part of her partner's limp body. Machines generated noise in the small curtained-off area, assaulting her ears with their rhythmic beeps and chimes, and crudely reminding her of their role in his current state of existence. They were doing all of the work - pumping the air that filled his lungs, dripping the life-sustaining drugs into his blood stream, calling out the condition of his feeble heartbeat. It was the machines that were really alive, not her partner. 

She moved into the room slowly, each step forward showing off a little more of what the killer had done to Bosco. The man had left him with a body that was barely functioning, a future that remained grim.

His face did not reflect the same youthful energy that had greeted her each afternoon, but that of a weary, spent soul. The pallor of his skin could be classified as sheet-white at best, his fingers and lips tinged with a contrasting shade of blue. His hair was still matted with long-dried sweat and blood, twisted this way and that from a nurse who'd stroked his head comfortingly.

The gurney's rail was cold beneath her fingers as she gripped it, her already reddened eyes fighting back tears once again. This was not the man she knew and loved, but a mere shadow of what he'd once been.

"Bos..." she whispered. "I'm so sorry..."

********** 

Black. There was so much black. It was deep and dark, crowded and spacious at the same time, causing an inert sense of claustrophobia to settle into his very bones. Numbness accompanied the black, adding to the stifling despondency that overwhelmed him. 

All sensations were gone, or at least he was unaware of them, his body, mind and soul floating in the sea of pure oblivion. His thoughts remained, however, and he struggled to figure out where he was, what had happened.

_Am I dead? Am I sleeping? Is this some kind of sick dream? _

He felt himself slowly floating towards the surface, up where the darkness wasn't so think, so ominous...so petrifying. Propelled by his terror of the dark, he used every ounce of strength that he had, forcing his exhausted body to cooperate with his panicked brain. He willed himself to swim to the top, but he inwardly screamed in terror. 

_God, I'm scared. It's too dark... I'm so scared..._

Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw it: Light.

_Oh, man, I hope I'm not dead... Please don't let this be that stupid light at the end of the tunnel. I can't die. I can't be dead... _

"Bosco?"

Someone was calling his name, whispering from somewhere up ahead, where the light was.

_God? Oh, shit. I_ am _dead_.

Sudden alarm filled his being and he felt sick. Sensation was returning slowly as he floated towards the light, and he gave in, too tried to fight his way back to where he'd come from. 

His options were few: go to the light and be dead, or struggle back down to the dark black. He made a quick decision, letting himself go, surrendering to the idea of being dead. Dead was better than the dark of Hell. 

_I'm sorry, Faith... I'm so sorry, Ma, I didn't mean to. I just can't be in the dark. _

**********

"It's all over...yet I feel like we've missed something. Sam, from a man who's actually closed a case like his before, does it always feel his way? Almost incomplete?"

The question arose, as he knew it would. Matt was a smart young man and wouldn't have been so quick as to say, "Case closed." and move on. No, this particular detective would tie up all lose ends, push for all the answers until he could sleep completely peacefully at night, knowing that his job was entirely finished, lock stock and barrel.

He sighed, raking a calloused hand through his dark hair. He'd had the same misgivings, uncertainty tugging at his subconsciousness like an annoying no-see-um. Always there, buzzing around one's head, but invisible, impossible to find and kill. 

Perhaps it was the sheer magnitude of the case, coupled with the abrupt and disturbing ending that endowed them both with this coy presentiment. Or perhaps it was a justified feeling - maybe there was more to this case than they originally thought.

And therein lay the problem.

The Chief had announced that morning that the case was officially closed and the investigation completed. The night before had solved and ended the murderous trial that had littered the precinct with bodies and stricken fear into the hearts of every officer that worked there. He'd praised his detectives for their hard work, their perseverance that had eventually lead to the first and final break. 

To reopen this case would only serve to send terror racing through the newfound security of the 55th precinct. Something that neither detective wanted to do. 

They would just have to live with the niggling feeling.

********** 

"Bosco?"

His eyelids fluttered slightly as he made an intrepid effort to open them. Faith felt her heart leap at the small movement, her joy surpassing the earlier consternation that had teemed in her body.

"Bosco?" she whispered again, this time leaning forward until her lips were mere inches away from his ear.

She stared at his face, watching and waiting for a response - any response. He looked for all the world that he was only asleep, and that waking him could be accomplished by a mere poke or whisper, but the truth was far from that. Even though the ventilator had been removed a few hours ago and he'd been extubated, he remained in critical condition, still extremely weak and in danger of infection. 

He stirred, moving his mouth underneath the oxygen mask that covered half of his face, eyelids twitching as he struggled to awaken. His hand moved within her own, fingers curling slightly against his partner's. 

"Bos..."

Finally, his efforts paid off and he managed to slit his heavy lids open a crack, giving Faith a glimpse of his blue eyes. She nearly broke down then, having been convinced before that she'd never see them again and the deep, striking pureness that she'd known for such a long time.

"Hey," she smiled weakly, giving his hand a squeeze. 

He responded with a rather pathetic squeeze of his own and the widening of his eyes as he strained to awaken fully and stay that way. He swallowed hard; wincing in pain, then opened his mouth to speak.

"Faith...?"

"It's over, Bosco. He's dead... It's over, it's all over," she soothed, running a hand over his forehead as tears of happiness ran down her cheeks. "You're okay, everything's okay. It's over..." 

He nodded ever so slightly, repeating her statement as if to assure himself of its reality, his eyes faintly lighting with the mischievously happy sparkle that had been missing for so long. "S'over."

She smiled, this time fully, knowing in that moment that she'd never been happier. Bosco was alive, awake - and he would be fine. Her life had gone from a constant state of fear and uneasiness, to the warm feeling of absolute security. There was no man out there hunting her and her coworkers down, no menacing threat of death looming in the air, no fear for her and her partner's life anymore. 

It was over.

**********

TBC... Tell me what you think... I'd love to hear from you! **:o)**


	27. Epilogue

Chain of Darkness--

A/N: Okay, people, this is it! The end is finally here! Have fun, kids :)

I want to thank everybody that reviewed - your kind words mean so much to me! Thank you, thank you, thank you!!! (give yourselves a hug from me!) 

Also, I would like to say that I know that a lot of heads will roll with this last chapter. I just wanted to let you all know that yes, I am mean, but I can't help myself. :) This has been the ending from the very beginning and I can't even think of changing it. Don't be mad. It's all good, right? 

**Epilogue**

**********

**Six Months Later...**

The early summer sky was clear and pure, no clouds hiding the beautiful blue heavens, no smog settling into the city as a smothering fog. The trees that lined the serene park proudly showed off their bright green garments of leaves, waving and glistening at the soft breeze that weaved softly through the skyscrapers and buildings. The tranquil hush that settled into the normally noisy city was quickly and sharply broken by a loud shout.

"STOP, jag-off!"

The two men that made a calamitous trail though the park instantly marred the blanket of pristine grass and kept flowerbeds. Sprinting fast, the leading man slowed slightly before leaping over a bench. The pursuer promptly followed, never deterred by the improvised hurtle. 

"Stop or I'll..." 

The words were lost amongst the heavy breathing from the chaser, his breathy panting even and rhythmical as his fit body strained to run at a faster pace. Forcing his legs to beat out an even faster tempo, he launched himself at the figure ahead, his arms reaching intently for the sweat-covered man that he tailed.

His groping fingers instantly came in contact to the rough denim of jeans, and he managed to grab onto a portion of the fabric in his outreached hands, gripping it in a death-grip. His move paid off, and the instantaneous tumbling and barreling of the moving body as it fell rewarded him. Together the two rolled, tumbling in a heaving ball of arms and legs, grunts of pain and satisfaction emitting from the whirlwind, each man with a different motive, but each at an equal impasse. 

Finally the perverted spin-cycle stopped, revealing the winner of the aggressive roll. 

"Get down! Hands behind your back!" the pursuer snarled, his voice tight with exerted breaths, but obviously immensely pleased. He proceeded to knee the other man in the back and climb atop him as he fastened handcuffs to flailing wrists. "You thought you could get away? HUH?" he snapped, punctuating each syllable with a vicious thrust of his knee. "You picked the wrong day, pal..."

The downed man, in obvious pain, grunted in response, twisting this way and that in a valiant -but foolish- effort to free himself. This only irritated his aggressor further, and he then proceeded to slam the groaning man's head into the hard cement walkway. 

"Bosco!" called a sharp, annoyed voice from a few yards away. "Knock it off!" 

Faith ran up, slightly out of breath from the good two-hundred or so yards she had just sprinted. Wisps of fine, blond hair had escaped her bun, bouncing and coiling around her face as she ran. Behind her, Sully and Davis drove up, their RMP's lights flashing, a stark contrast to the natural peace that had one been the park. 

Bosco's head snapped up and he grinned widely at his approaching partner, yanking the man's head up harshly, as if to display his catch. "Look what I found, mommy...! Can I keep it?" 

If he weren't grinning like a kid in a candy shop, Faith might have just rolled her eyes at him and booked the perp. But the silly comment and huge smile caught her off-guard, and she laughed, a relived chuckle that was breathy from the recent run. 

"God, Bosco..." she sighed as she laughed quietly, bending over in an attempt to catch her breath. 

Bosco shook his head, chuckling through the beaming smirk still plastered across his face. 

Life was good. He was back on the beat, back with his partner where he belonged. No more days of ceaseless worry, fear and anxiety. It was all over, ending forever on that one, horrible night. The night that he almost died. 

Six months had passed, each bringing its own trials and hardships. The weeks of loneliness spent cooped up in the hospital, the months of therapy, the pain that never seemed to leave - just deaden. His wounds had taken time to heal, reminding him every waking moment of that night. The images still haunted him - he could never quite shake them, but he knew that they would never leave and it was almost comforting. A painful reminder, one could say, but he could live with it. He had to. 

"You guys good?"

From behind him, Davis' voice was clear, and Bosco turned to see Sullivan and his young partner walking up, nightsticks drawn. 

"Yeah... I got the moron." He yanked the man up again, this time to his feet, and glared him right in the eye. "First rule of the streets, jag-off: If you run, you only go to jail tired."

"Second rule: Never piss off the little cops," Davis added, smirking slightly.

"Hey! Who you calling little?" Bosco snapped - only to be rewarded by loud chuckles from the three other officers. He shook his head as they laughed blithely, deciding that even though he appeared angry, he'd never been as happy. Everything was as it should be - normal, comfortable, perfect. 

Despite his best efforts, his mouth began to turn up at the corners.

Life was good. 

**********

Papers littered the hardwood desk, splayed this way and that as if an unseen hand had scattered them carelessly. The only sounds that lit the room were the soft melodic breaths that peacefully broke through the silence, making known the man who sat slumped in the leather chair, his eyes closed in a reverie of thoughts and theories. 

His fingers were laced together in an intertwined knot, rested unceremoniously upon his lap, as he sat in complete concentration. His features, although appearing very placid and serene, masked the brooding thoughts and feelings that snaked around in his whirling mind. Questions without answers, a spinning time machine without an end in sight. His learned brain was racked with possibilities, all stemming from the queries and inquisitions that permeated his consciousness in pestering spurts.

The door swung open slowly, squeaking nosily from years of neglect, startling the young man and forcing his eyes to the opening. Kind, blue eyes met his own as Sam Taylor slipped into the room, closing the door softly behind him. He offered a broad smile to his partner as he sank into an unoccupied chair across from Matt. 

Neither man spoke for a solid minute, Sam trying to read the unusual and interesting look in his partner's deep eyes, Matt not wholly pulled from his brooding revere, waiting for Sam to instigate the conversation that was sure to commence.

"You have a question?"

Sam's query was spoken more as a statement then a question, his knowledgeable mind and uncanny ability to read people telling him that the young man that sat so perplexed before him had plenty to ask. 

Matt unlaced his hands and frowned, his fingers unconsciously pushing though his thick, blond hair as he shook his head in ambiguity. What he had to say -or rather, ask- had weighed heavily on his mind for weeks...actually, closer to months, and he hesitated to voice his theories for lack of a strong supposition to back his words. His stomach churned at the thought of being rash or just overly precautious and wary.

"Sam..." he started, his voice taking on a husky, uncertain tone that he didn't like at all. He should just say it - spit out the haunting questions that followed him everywhere. "Sam, I'm having reservations...about the Cop Killer case."

The silence that ensued did little to appease his uncertainty, only adding to the stifling tension that he'd created. Had he just opened Pandora's box? 

Guilt and culpability slammed into his being like a ton of bricks. A detective was supposed to be sure of everything, to know when exactly a case was closed. If he had done his job well, there would be no doubts or qualms - only the certainty of completeness. Had he failed?

Sam's mouth turned up in a soft smile, more of a smirk than anything, a sure sign that he'd been anticipating exactly what had been spoken. "What's on your mind?"

Matt sighed, puling forth the thoughts that had plagued him for months with their horrible veracity. "There's a few things that I feel aren't...tied up, I guess. Some stuff about the case that makes no sense to me... I thought maybe..." He trailed off, his brow rising in a dubious expression, obviously eager to get the burden off his chest.

In an effort to seem relaxed and composed, Sam crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. "You're having second thoughts, right? Not sure if we got everything - not sure if it's really over. I understand... I've had the same thoughts, many times... Every day since, in fact."

The bluntness of his last words broke the barricade of hesitancy that corralled his thoughts, and Matt's expression dramatically changed from a puzzled frown into sparked and fevered wide-eyed relief. His heart rate sped as he talked quickly, spewing forth every doubt and reason. "I just... Some things just don't match up... See this?" He unearthed a thin folder from the pile of papers that peppered the desk. "This makes no sense... James Lee Koch was a lower-class citizen with no priors, no history in the military, yet he had the elusiveness of that of a Navy Seal - or at least someone that had been in some way militarily trained..."

Sam nodded at this, glancing down at the open file that held every scrap of information that made their killer who he was. 

"...And he was insanely smart - something his grade-school level education could not have provided, seeing that he was barely a C student. Where did he learn to build a bomb - an untraceable one at that? To use a sniper rifle? To be so stealthy...?" Matt leaned forward, lowering his voice into his soft Texan drawl, enunciating each syllable slowly, his liquid brown eyes burning with ardor. "And here's the big question... How the hell did he find out just who had answered that call - who he had to kill to get his vengeance? A grief-stricken father would have never remembered who was there that day...the men, the RMP numbers... And there's no way that he could get those records...they're confidential. Sealed and kept classified for just that reason: so nobody can exact revenge. Strictly off-limits to anyone without a badge...impossible."

Matt suddenly felt sick as he uttered the words, the reality of the situation all to true right at that moment. The pent-up emotions and screaming doubts were out, voiced to his mentor in a breathy, disturbing show of suspicion. 

Sam was quiet for a moment, as if he was taking a deliberate amount of time to ponder these misgivings, but his bright blue eyes never wavered from their intense gaze right into Matt's. 

"You're right," he stated simply. "I've had similar thoughts, Matt... Where'd he get the money to back him? He barely made minimum wage. The cost of the rifle, the bomb, the knife...he couldn't have afforded it. Then there's the fact that he managed to conjure up such a fantastic plan in such a short time span. It was merely a year later...unfeasible for such a man. And how did he fool us, evade us for so long? A lower-class guy that was less than bright... Yet...he did. He did...but not without help, I'm afraid."

"So there _was_ another person. Someone with the brains and the money to back him."

"Look's like it, unfortunately. But we have no way of proving this - can't even begin to investigate... To reopen this case would be..."

"I know, I know... It's just..."

Matt rubbed his eyes, weary and broken up about the inconclusiveness of the case. Everything in his being wished for it to be truly over, for the guilt of a job left undone to leave him, for a peaceful sleep at night. But as much as he wished for it, he knew that as long as the elusive 'he' was out there, it would never come. 

"What do we do?" he whispered, raising his eyes once again to meet his partner's. "What the _hell_ do we do...?"

"We live with it. We go on, waiting and watching over our shoulders for the rest of our lives, knowing that there's more to the puzzle, pieces missing. We move on and hope that it stays calm, that he chooses not to finish the job."

"Shit, Sam. I can't live like that. I have to find him..." Matt breathed, tears of repulsion threatening to cloud his vision. Images of every gristly, gory, purposeful murder flashed before him, staining his eyesight bright red with the blood of innocents. 

In that moment, that small second in time, he decided. Even if it took a lifetime of dedication, he would hunt down this man, this malicious planner. He would find him - for the victims. For Barry, for Jacobsen, for Gusler, for Moretti, for Davis, for Nash, and for Boscorelli. They didn't deserve this. Not after all of the terror and the needless pain. They deserved better - his best efforts. 

He would find the bastard if it was that last thing he ever did. 

**********

The musty smell of old mahogany permeated the small room as thin smog, tingling his nostrils with its acrid, yet familiar odor. He ran a finger along the desktop, noting the dips and gouges that littered the wood from years of frequent use. 

His mind was far from the simple gashes and nicks of his desk though, and he frowned as he meditated, finger still rubbing the wood like a magic lamp. 

_Funny_, he mused to himself, _ how they think it's over. They all do - I can see it in their eyes, their faces. They continue on without a care in the word. They have no idea..._

The investigation had been closed the day after the last...attempt, and the folders, evidence, and data had all been stored neatly away, collecting dust in the corner of some old warehouse, no doubt. _Good. _

He thought back, to over a year before, the day that he'd first met James Lee Koch. It was a Friday, cool and crisp, but with a few warm breezes that softly heralded spring. As soon as he'd met him, he knew: Koch was perfect. A man who wanted nothing more that to enact revenge on his son's untimely death, dumb as shit and eager to be trained. Perfect.

It had started with a handshake, a mutual connection as both men wanted only the same thing. But he hadn't been able to perform his dirty work himself - or rather wasn't stupid enough to. No, part of his plan was to leave that to someone else. So, he'd done his research, poured over newspaper clippings, files, and documents, and he'd finally found the ideal subject.

Then came the tricky part: approaching the man with an offer. 

"I'll teach you, give you a flawless plan..." he'd said, as he'd stared into the passionate eyes of a vengeful Koch. "You just leave me out of it. I'll supply your weapons, whatever money you need - just get the job done." And Koch had agreed, smiling evenly as they shook on it.

Months of tactical training came next, plotting out every move and detail to the nth degree - ensuring a satisfactory result. Koch, although a little slow, was an enthusiastic pupil. An unhealthy obsession for retribution pushed the inexperienced man until he had achieved a level of stealth and training that was pleasing.

Finally, the right time came and the killings began. He'd just sat back and observed, his eyes ever-watchful for a small glitch in his plan, but for the most part he stayed relaxed, enjoying every moment of the unfolding drama. His work of art. His masterpiece.

But almost as soon as it had started, it ended. Not wholly finished, his plan was altered terribly by Koch's stupidity and thirst for a pain-filled, slow death. He'd nearly panicked as the events of that fateful night played out, his breaths completely stopping when he'd head the news. Koch was dead, Boscorelli wasn't. 

_Dammit. _

His eyes closed as his chest swelled with renewed anger, and he clenched his fist, fingers curling against the mahogany irately. He took a deep breath, relieving some of the pressure that was building in his tense body, and opened his eyes again. 

_Damn you, Boscorelli. I'll have you..._

His fist slowly uncurled and snaked around to the drawer that occupied the front of the desk. Pushing his fingers back into the deepest corner of the drawer, he felt around until he found what he was looking for and pulled it out.

The small, tattered picture held the only image he had left of her. He turned the paper over until she smiled back up at him, her dark curls bouncing, bright eyes flashing. Her smile was that of an angel, perfect and beautiful, her lips as full and soft as he remembered them. She smelled of vanilla and she tasted of sweet honey, her skin pure porcelain, smooth and soft under his fingers.

He sat for a long time, reliving several moments - the best moments of his life. She was so perfect, so desirable, so what he needed. And she loved him.

He frowned at the thin band of gold that scathed her left hand, a testament to her marriage to another man - the man that she left at night to be with _him_. That man was the only reason that nobody knew about their romance, their love. That it had to be kept a secret even now. He would have been so proud to show her off, to flaunt her around his friends and coworkers, but it would never be. She was married to one of his coworkers...one of his many supervisors, to be exact. 

She was there one day, a beautiful creature that doted on him and blessed him with her love, and then she was gone. One fateful night, one horrible hour was all it took, and she was gone forever. Dead. She had done nothing wrong, but had paid dearly with her life.

He hadn't found out until the next day when the news had quickly gone around the workplace: his boss' wife was dead. Funny thing, everyone consoled his boss and not him - the person that should have been receiving all of the comforting. She wasn't in love with that fool, but with _him_. She'd said so just two nights before. The last time he saw her...

The details of her death had slowly filtered in from the perverted game of 'telephone' that was constantly played around the workplace, each morbid fact hitting him again and again with intense fury and grief.

It was Halloween. Walking the four blocks back to her house alone, she was attacked by a group of men, roughed up, and raped. A police cruiser had passed by -one that was occupied by Officers Michael Jacobsen and James Barry- and stopped to see what was going on. But the police had moved on when they'd gotten a good look at her 'naughty nurse' costume and instantly assumed that she was a stripper. She was eventually beaten to near-death and her body dumped into a ditch near the park. Twenty minutes later, someone called in to the police anonymously, giving her location. A second cruiser was dispatched, driven by none other then the hot-headed fool, Boscorelli, and Steven Gusler, but the two had left after a mere ten minutes of fruitless searching. They had heedlessly missed her crumpled and broken body due to a lack of effort, he knew. And now she was gone, the fault being that of the officers that were so careless and negligent.

And for that, he would have to enact revenge.

He had no beef with the others that Koch had added to the list of victims, but had no qualms about their deaths. A few more officers here and there were entirely expendable, just so long as _his_ four men were executed. 

Biting his lip, he traced the outline of her face with his index finger, struggling to hold back the angry tears that threatened to spill from his burning eyes. 

_I loved you, Susan Garret... I still do..._

He managed to compose himself, and after replacing the picture to its rightful place in the back of the drawer, he sank back in his chair and sighed, his anger quickly melting into a sinister feeling of pride and utter control. 

They didn't know who he was. 

Hell, they didn't even know that Koch had a...oh, how could he put it? Mastermind. They would never know about him, the Mastermind. 

_It's sad that the so-called 'world's finest' cannot even protect their own. _

His mouth warped into a sadistic smile, a reflection of the immense pleasure he took in the complete control he had. So the job hadn't been finished... Perhaps he would find a new disciple to train. Perhaps he would do the 'dirty work' himself. Perhaps he wouldn't do a thing at all...

That was the beauty of it. He was in charge. It was _his_ decision. 

_I_ am_ the Mastermind. _

The buzzing of the intercom set on the edge of the desk pervaded his thoughts, forcing him quickly back to reality. He reached forward pressing the 'talk' button.

"Yes?"

"Sergeant Christopher, you have a call on line two."

********** 

**~The End~**


End file.
